


The road not taken

by Buggirl



Series: May to September [8]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Animal Death, Bullying, Contraception, Death, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Funerals, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, physical violence, pregnancy loss, pregnancy termination (mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 104,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.</i> D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley's Lover.</p><p>After facing the harsh reality of the Wasteland, sole survivor Molly Gould is determined to find her son Shaun and bring him home. By her side, former Gunner mercenary, Robert Joseph MacCready, now free from the troubles that had plagued his time in the Commonwealth. The challenges and revelations that they are yet to face may strengthen their bond, or break it forever. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5635762/chapters/12978595">Tea and Sympathy</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou once again to [Thievinghippo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo) for the beta! Inspiration for the title for the fic and opening line comes from Robert Frost's poem [The road not taken.](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173536)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and MacCready set on a journey back to Sanctuary Hills and to the machine that will deliver Molly to the Institute and hopefully, to Shaun. Along the way, a moment of respite sees Molly reflect on decisions she made both as a child and young woman.

Two roads diverged in a burnt out, radiation filled wood. Molly knew she could not travel both. From within the borders of her comfortable and privileged life she’d made many decisions, but few choices. Decisions where she would eat, sleep, play with were easy and uncomplicated before the war. Even after, decisions were practical, unless you wanted to die. Now she had a choice to make and it would set her down a path from which she might not return. This life she lived was never meant to be simple.

She woke to find MacCready snoring lightly and curled up tight against her. His presence, his body next to hers, his hands on hers, _his love_ , gave her a small sense of comfort and relief from the unrelenting reality of what lay outside the door. She hadn’t slept soundly before the war, it was even worse now. However, through sheer exhaustion from her trip to the Glowing Sea, and the previous night's physical and emotional exertion, and not long after the final long slow kiss of the night, her eyes closed and she remained dead to the world. Today they would travel to Sanctuary Hills to use the machine that would deliver her to the Institute and hopefully, to Shaun. A fleeting sensation of fear hit her gut as she stared at the rusting metal ceiling. The worse case scenario for a trip to the Institute meant her death, the best case, she would have her son in her arms, and that, more than anything, would be enough for her to risk her life.

She fumbled for MacCready’s watch that sat on top of the drawers at the side. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed. It was well past nine and Nick said he’d come by at eight thirty. She grabbed the robe from the end of the bed and left MacCready to his heavy slumber.

Nick sat quietly in the living area examining a gun. “Nick, sorry,” she said and stifled a yawn. “I overslept.”

Nick glanced in her direction, placed the safety on and laid the gun at his side. “No problem, General. I thought you might be tired.” Nick looked pointedly towards the empty sleeping bag in the corner of the room littered with comic books. What sufficed for his brow rose as he looked back at her.

“Ahh yeah.” Molly felt her face flush and she turned her head sheepishly down and away, not wanting to meet Nick’s piercing gaze.

“None of my business, General. Can I say though-- you look-- relaxed, happy even.”

Molly gave him a shy laugh and stared at him in earnest. “I am Nick, I am. Worried about everything, but still those things.”

Nick pointed to a metal teapot sitting on a small burner and some food sitting on the dining table. “Breakfast?”

“You didn’t have to do that, Nick.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “There’s even enough for MacCready if he wants it.”

She poured herself some tea and munched on the sweet razorgrain bread.

“Nick, I was thinking maybe you can stay here in Diamond City? MacCready’s going to come back with me to Sanctuary Hills,” she said, taking a sip of tea.

“Staying here would suit me just fine-- I still have some small cases that need clearing up and Ellie is getting annoyed with all the paperwork I left her.”

Molly laughed and put her empty cup down. “Even in the Wasteland there’s paperwork.”

“You know I’d kill for a bowl of noodles right about now.” MacCready came from behind Molly, wearing his pants and nothing else and holding his undershirt in his hand. He snuck his arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. “Morning, beautiful.”

Molly coughed and pointed her half eaten slice of bread towards Nick.

“Ahh.” MacCready gave a bark of a laugh a pink tint came briefly to his cheeks. He quickly put on his undershirt. “Morning, Valentine.”

Nick nodded. “MacCready.”

“I’m just gonna--” She pointed back to the loft bedroom and placed a hand on MacCready to direct him back up the stairs.

Nick nodded. “Sure.”

As Molly tried to dress, MacCready snuck his hands below her clothes, stealing kisses on spaces where bare skin showed and attempted to undress her again. She smacked his hands away half a dozen times before he got the message. “Get dressed.”

He pouted and sat on the bed to put on his shoes and jacket.

Molly refastened the buttons he’d undone and the catch on her pants. She ruffled MacCready’s hair as he made to put his hat on. 

“Stop that, General, that’s a lot like starting something you can’t finish.” He smirked and squeezed her behind as she stood and leant over in front of him to pick up her jacket.

She gave a squeak and batted his hand away again before kneeling to jam one more thing into her pack before she stood. “Right. I think that’s it.” They descended the stairs and back to Nick, who was now re-examining the gun. MacCready filed in behind her, already with a pack on his back. She poured herself another cup of tea and handed MacCready some bread.

“Just so you know. If-- when I come back-- that promise I made to you? I haven’t forgotten-- I won’t break that. We’ll find Eddie Winter,” she said. She turned and this time not shying from staring directly into his eyes. “Thank you, Nick, for all you’ve done.” 

Nick nodded and placed the gun in a holster under his coat. “I know you won’t break that promise. But, you’re making it sound like I’m not gonna see you again.” His voice had a worried edge to it. 

Molly put her tea down. Moving forward she grabbed Nick around the waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I won’t,” she said, Nick’s coat muffling her voice.

Nick chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Molly, I have a good feeling you’ll come back and I hope you find Shaun, I really do.”

Molly stood back, Nicks sentiments were comforting and she held his metal hand and squeezed. “I hope so too, Nick.”

She put her hat on, swung her pack on her back, and opened the door to the Diamond City marketplace.

“Hey, MacCready,” Nick said. MacCready turned to him just as he was about to place more bread in his mouth.

“I know there isn’t much you can do, but it’s your turn. If you can, bring her back in one piece. Okay, Jackass?”

MacCready lifted his hat and scratched his scalp with his thumb. “You know if I could guarantee you that, I would, Valentine.”

Nick nodded and MacCready placed the bread in his mouth and closed the door to Homeplate. He brushed the crumbs from his hands as Molly reached out for him.

Today, the first time since she had arrived back from the Glowing Sea the sky looked brighter, the ambient sounds of those starting their business for the day made for a peaceful buzz in her head and despite her bread and tea filled belly, the smell of food stalls preparing for the day's trade made her mouth water.

She turned at the top of the entry stairs and looked over the city. The landscape of corrugated iron and wood contrasted to the imposing sides of the baseball fields high walls. “This might be the last time I see this,” she said, sorry to leave yet another home she’d created behind, one that now held memories of her and MacCready and a reignited passion. Both Homeplate and Sanctuary Hills were now firmly entrenched as places she felt at home. The only places she was confident she could relax and be herself. However, she wasn’t confident that she would return, no matter what Nick or anyone else said. But MacCready was by her side and that gave her some sense of quiet, that the road ahead would be the right one.

“I’m sure it won’t be the last time you see it. Come on, General.”

Molly caught a level of anguish in MacCready’s face that he tried to disguise with a smile but she could see the tightness in the muscles of his neck. She squeezed his hand, now firmly held in hers, as they headed out of the city. 

They travelled for an hour on the uninhabited road out of Diamond City when the first crack of thunder and flash of lightening turned the sky from blue to grey. A flock of green coloured clouds blew in from the south and Molly’s pip boy once again crackled with rads. She never thought to bring the Hazmat suit and she left a fair stash of chems behind too, meaning no RadAway or Rad-X.

“We should probably find some shelter before the rads get too high.” Her eyes narrowed as she observed the sky above. The rad storm could last anywhere from thirty minutes to the whole day, meaning they might be stuck for a while.

MacCready glanced around. “Over there,” he said and pointed to a ruined old diner.

Molly nodded in agreement. She followed closely behind him as they entered and closed the door quietly behind them. MacCready, had his gun out and ready as they dumped their packs at the door. They moved cautiously around the diner, wary of ghouls, raiders or radroaches. Best to make sure there would be no nasty surprises. Molly stood by the door as MacCready walked to the back of the diner and inspected several small rooms. Her heartbeat sped up as she looked around the room and watched as MacCready slowly opened the doors behind the counter his gun peaking in first. He opened each door with a bang.

She scanned the diner tabletops and shelves behind the counter, one still littered with junk, the other with packaged food in reasonable condition. There might be something useful amongst all the refuse. The sound of metal on tile from one of the rooms behind her interrupted her inspection. The noise came from a shelf MacCready had pulled across a doorway. “Need a hand?” she said as she popped her head around the door frame.

“I got it,” he replied. “Gonna make a hell of a din if someone tries to come in that way.”

She grabbed some food from her pack and sat in a booth near the rear.

Molly looked around the room, the posters on the wall surprisingly intact, an old blue jukebox sat in one corner of the room, an ice cream machine sat in the other. She narrowed her eyes and picked up a piece of plastic sitting on the table. It was torn, the edges jagged, but with distinct print that she recognised instantly. She was laughing when MacCready joined her. 

“What are you laughing at, General?”

“This place, it's a Blue Juke Diner, I thought they all closed down well before the war. I haven't been in one of these since-- since Prom.” She snorted another laugh.

“Prom? What's that?” He placed his rifle against the wall and grabbed her hand across the table.

She smiled as she traced the marks and creases around his knuckles, finding reassurance in the simple act of studying the coarseness of his hand. “Sorry, I forget sometimes. You don’t know about these things. A Prom, it’s a party, of sorts. When kids graduate school they celebrate.”

“Ah I see. So you and a bunch of other 12 year olds came here?” He reached into his pocket and placed a packet of cigarettes on the table, but didn’t take one.

“Haa ahh no. Me and a bunch of other 18 year olds.”

“Wait, how long were you in school for?” He tilted his head.

“Pre-war, fourteen years-- from around four to eighteen. Just a given you’d spend half your time in school.”

“Sounds like nightmare.”

“For some maybe.” She looked pointedly at him and laughed. “Pre-school, then elementary school, then middle school, and finally high school. Of course, there's also college, how long you're there for depends on what you're studying. I got my first real job right before-- ha--” She bowed and shook her head. “Right before I turned twenty three.”

MacCready’s eyes widened. “Shi-- wow, like you didn't have a job or anything before you were my age?”

Molly's felt her cheeks and ears flush red. “I didn't need a job. But I had a job, part time-- nothing ahh, well, not the one I studied for in college. I was a-- nevermind.”

MacCready sniggered. “So this Prom. Tell me more about eighteen year old Molly. I think I'd like to know about her and what she got up to at the Blue Juke Diner. I mean it’s only fair, you know what I was up to at eighteen.”

“Yes, I do. Something very different from me-- you a former Mayor, a Gunner, and a young husband and father. Me? I read a lot, studied, talked with friends on the phone. Sang silly pop songs, watched tv, never went on dates, very different. We must look-- soft to you.” She studied his face, sure she’d find mockery of some sort, but finding none.

“Different times. I get it. You were all soft.” His voice had an accepting tone to it as he traced a calloused finger on her palm. “I have an appreciation for soft--” He leaned over for a kiss.

Molly obliged for a slow open mouth kiss and placed her free hand on his chin, rubbing his beard with her thumb. “Different times, indeed.”

“Tell me then, about this ‘Prom’, a bunch of eighteen year olds, I can almost imagine the smell, a big party, drinking-- sex.”

Molly laughed again. “Prepared to be disappointed. Prom is usually a dance, held in a big hall with music and food, with adults, well, older adults, supervising. Boys dressed in suits or tuxedos and the girls wearing fancy dresses with their hair up. People usually pair up for dates or dancing.” She kissed his hand. “And the smell is too much cologne and perfume.”

“So you wore a pretty dress, smelled nice, and had a date then?” he said as his brows rose.

She nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Go on, then.”

“You really want to hear this? I mean it’s not exactly that exciting.”. A loud peal of thunder from outside made her jump and for a moment it made her forget the any feeling of embarrassment she might have had talking about her younger self.

He looked towards the door. “Yeah, well, not like we can go anywhere yet.” He wiped his hand across his chin before sitting back in the booth chair. “You’re not embarrassed are you?”

“Maybe. A little. It’s more, that was my previous life, I didn’t think you’d have any interest in that.” She gave him an awkward smile.

He leaned forward and grabbed her hand again . “Whatever I said to make you think that, it’s not true. If it means something to you, I want to hear about it.”

She bought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles, taking in the smell of gun oil and powder that she loved. “Okay then. I wore a long evening gown, sky blue, satin dress with an empire bustline.” She raised her hand to under her breasts. “And I had a white orchid pinned to thin spaghetti straps.”

“An orchid? a flower?”

She nodded. “It’s quite a unique flower, lots of different colours with different meanings. A white one symbolises innocence, elegance and beauty. So I’m told.”

“I bet you were all three.”

She gave him a coy laugh. “You need to stop flattering me. Anyway the dress was a little racy for me, hardly innocent. Considering I used to wear a lot of baggy t-shirts.”

“General, you don’t seem the baggy t-shirt type.”

“I was a little self-conscious of my-- err-- assets.” She felt her face flush.

MacCready licked his lips and laughed. “I'm liking the sound of eighteen year old Molly Gould and her assets.”

“Martin. Molly Martin,” she corrected him.

“Oh, right, yeah I forgot. Tell me about eighteen year old Molly Martin then.” He traced a finger up her sleeve, playing with the delicate skin of her inner wrist. ”The blue, was it like the colour of your eyes?”

“You still gonna try to flatter me? Stem my embarrassment about what I was like then?”

“Yes, but I’m certain that I would like you no matter the colour of your eyes, or the state of your-- assets.”

Molly gave him a smirk and bowed her head. “Yes, the blue matched my eyes. My date liked it. He was--”

“Handsome, attractive, the love of your young life?” He kissed the skin of her wrist. “Do tell me, General.”

_Molly felt the tug on her ponytail while the book she read was knocked out of her hands._

_“Hey freckle face. Why are you reading? It’s lunchtime. Don’t you have any friends?”_

_She looked up into the face of Vincent Lafferty, a good head taller than her, with a puffy face and a mean slit for a mouth. He was big even for a fifth grader and the biggest bully in the whole of Mount Pleasant Elementary._

_“Huh? Gonna answer me, freckle face?” He pushed her shoulder hard enough that she almost fell backwards off the bench where she sat. Molly was an average sized ten year old, but compared to Vincent, small and vulnerable._

_Molly sat, her heart beating fast, not saying anything._

_“I hear red headed people have no souls. Do you have a soul, freckle face? Do crosses catch fire when you see them? Does the preacher cower in the corner when you go to church?” He ended the question with an ugly laugh._

_By this time, a small crowd had gathered. No one was egging Vincent on, but the crowd alone was enough to scare Molly into continued silence and to make him more brazen with his insults. “Where’s your dolly, Molly freckle face? Hey? Shoulda brung her cos you ain't got no friends.” He pushed her again and Molly felt the sting reach behind her eyes._

_Most days, she had lunch with Serena and Candice. However, both of them were home sick, a nasty bug hitting the fifth grade hard. Molly took the opportunity to read the latest book in her favourite series, ‘Secret of Landsdowne Manor: A Rosie Ray mystery’. Vincent had bullied both Serena and Candice separately, but had never tried it with all three of them, and up until that point had never even tried with Molly._

_“You got a funny nose and big lips, freckle face. You got anything to say to that?”_

_“And you have an ugly heart and no one will ever love you, Vincent Lafferty.” The words spilled from Molly’s mouth before she even realised what she’d said._

_A confused look crossed Vincent’s face, and he rubbed his brow before he looked around to see the others laughing. He scowled and balled his hand into a fist and bought it close to Molly’s face. “What did you say, freckle face?”_

_She flinched and swallowed hard. “I said, you have an ugly heart and if you continue down this path, no one will ever love you.”_

_There was more laughter from the crowd around. Vincent turned and addressed them. “You all shut up. Otherwise when I finish with freckle face here I’m gonna pound each and every one of you.”_

_What did her mother tell her about bullies? ‘It’s never about you, it’s more about them. Don’t let their self doubt become yours, Molly.’ She took a deep breath and laid a gentle hand over Vincent’s fist, not sure if it was the best idea, but it was the only thing she could think of doing to stop him from hitting her. “If you don’t want to have an ugly heart--”_

_Vincent turned back to her, his nostrils flared but was tempered with rapid blinks of confusion._

_Molly’s heart beat even faster. “Think of it this way, Vincent, hit me now you’ll regret it. Not for being caught, not for punishment from teachers, or the fact that everyone here is laughing at you, but because in your heart, currently filled with blackness, you know I’m right.”_

_Molly felt Vincent's fist relax under her palm and she felt her chest puff out, she continued. “I can show you how to get rid of that blackness. I can show you that hitting someone smaller than yourself just because they have ginger hair and freckles are a waste of your obvious talents.” Her voice was soft, melodic and non-threatening, but inside she was shaking despite her outwards impression of bravery. Her voice was at the tip of breaking and she was sure that at any moment Vincent would stop listening and his fist would ball hard again and connect with some part of her soft body._

_Vincent was silent before turning and waving away the crowd. “Get the hell away, losers. Go back to Loserville and do your loser things.”_

_He turned back to Molly who still had her small hand over his now completely relaxed fist. He blinked again a few more times. “My-- what-- talents?”_

_Molly patted the seat beside her, she could feel her leg muscles tighten, ready to stand and run if it all went pear shaped, but she remained as Vincent sat down next to her. “You’re really strong, but people are-- are scared of you.”_

_He snorted a laugh. “Yeah.”_

_“Do you want people to like you? Do you want me to like you?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to like her, but right now, if it meant diverting the bully she would use whatever she had to stop him._

_Vincent's faced flushed crimson and his lip wobbled. He looked away. “Yeah,” he muttered._

_“Then don’t be so-- mean. Your size, you could protect people. People will-- respect you, they might still fear you, but better than having them fear you AND hate you. Don’ t you think? Maybe even become your friends.”_

_Molly’s breath caught in her chest and now her stomach was clenching as well as her legs._

_“I don’t have any friends,” Vincent said matter of factly and narrowed his eyes._

_“I can be your friend, as long as you don’t hit me. And maybe not-- be so mean?”_

_Vincent bit his lip and looked at her, she could see a level of sadness in his eyes, she’d heard his father had left and she’d witnessed only last week him being teased for it. It meant the boy at the end of the barb got a beat down, but still--. She’d taken a risk in answering back, she’d seen him pummel others for far less._

_He bent forward, and picked up the book he’d previously knocked from her hand. “I’d like that. Molly freckle face.” He held it out to her._

_She took the book with shaking hands and gave him a nervous smile._

“My date, he was-- a good friend. Vincent Lafferty. Tall, very thin. Shaggy blonde hair and the biggest brown eyes I think I've ever seen. We were in elementary school together, then high school. We were in the book club together.”

“Book club? Really? Sounds--, exciting. Depends on the book I guess. That old soppy stuff you like?” 

Molly smacked him across his arm. “Classical romance literature is not soppy. Well, not really. Not all of it. There’s a lot of searing social indictment in it.”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s right, Lady Chatterley knew all about her gamekeepers ‘searing indictment’.” 

Molly opened her mouth. “You devoured that book in less than a day.” She narrowed her eyes. ”And -- if my memory serves me right, you quoted it to me that very night.” 

He gave a nervous cough. “Well, you know. Might have made a small impression. That visit to the library wasn’t in vain.” 

“You want to hear this story or not?”

“Of course, of course, maybe less about Vincent ‘big brown eyes’ Lafferty and more about spaghetti straps that Molly Martin was wearing. I bet it showed off that cute line of freckles on your left shoulder.”

She smirked and ignored the compliment. “Anyway, as I was saying. Vincent and I were friends, neither of us had a partner. I hadn't planned on going, but he asked and I said yes.” Molly recalled the excitement she had at the time, she thought not to go, not that she needed a date with most of her friends going as a group, but then Vincent asked. She remembered how giddy she became. “I was excited. We danced.” Her eyes moved to the jukebox sitting in the corner. What was that song they had played when Vincent first led her to the dance floor at the Prom? ‘Be my baby’ - the Ronettes. They hardly moved from that spot all night, not until they came to the diner. “After the Prom was over we went with some others to a Blue Juke Diner down the road. We ate ice cream, danced some more, then he took me home.”

“And?”

“And what? He took me home. That was it.”

He sighed. “Sounds, like a wasted opportunity, no alcohol, no cigarettes, no sex? Did he kiss you at least?”

Molly laughed and put a hand over her mouth before resting her chin in her hand. “There were parties, sure. Lots of alcohol, But I never did that sort of thing, not until I got to college, even then--”

“You're avoiding the question. Did he kiss you?”

She closed her eyes for longer than a moment and took a breath as she recalled the kiss. Vincent had thin lips but had pressed against hers with a surprising soft gentleness. When he kissed her, his hands moved lower, slipping over satin to squeeze her behind with large hands. She’d responded by immediately running her hand through his hair, a move she found instinctive, natural, and familiar. “Yes, he did. And it was nice.”

He pursed his lips together his brow raised expectantly. “Nice? As in just nice or niiice?” 

She smacked his arm again. “Eighteen year old Molly Martin was nothing like eighteen year old Robert Joseph MacCready.”

He stood and moved around to the other side of the booth and pulled her up to standing.

“What are you doing?” she asked in an uncertain tone.

He took her hand and pulled her further towards the back and guided her into a small alcove in one of the rooms behind the diner counter. He pushed her back against a large sturdy bench, snaked his hands around her waist and kissed her. “It might have been a different time but I bet eighteen year old Robert Joseph MacCready would have kissed you, too. But I don't think ‘nice’ would be quite the word to use.”

“Oh really? That feels kind of obvious to me.” She bit her lip and put her hands on the bench behind her.

She gave a startled yelp as he spun her around. Her hat fell off and her chest armour clanked against the edge of the bench. His hands snaked up under her coat and around to find the button of her pants. He kissed the back of her neck near her hairline and moved to whisper in her ear. “Eighteen year old Robert Joseph MacCready would have taken eighteen year old Molly Martin to the back room of the diner. He'd have pulled down the spaghetti straps and kissed the line of freckles on her left shoulder.”

Molly bit her lip, picturing him in a tuxedo, a single young guy, maybe a suave slick back cut. Maybe he’d be smooth on the dance floor, or perhaps he’d play the clown. No, he’d be the guy standing at the back, waiting for his opportunity to swoop in for a dance, for the right girl of course. He’d still have the smart ass mouth she was in no doubt. She felt him tug at the button on her pants.

“Then he'd lift that satin dress, the colour of her eyes, and slide it up over her thighs--” MacCready’s hands shuffled Molly’s pants over her hips; his hand diving roughly between her thighs and into her sex.

Molly felt her heart beat faster and her face flushed, this wasn’t the most romantic of places to do this but she had a sudden heat and could feel her arousal against his coarse fingertips. She took his impatience as her own and pushed herself against him when he withdrew his hand. She could hear MacCready’s belt unfastening and before she could respond with a ‘yes,’ he was inside her. The heat from his cock and her damp arousal made it easy for him to bury himself deep and she gasped at the sudden fullness. Her cheeks, already flushed crimson, felt like they were on fire. His hand moved around to play with her clit and Molly flattened her hands against the bench and moaned.

“Tell me, would Molly Martin think this nice?” he whispered lewdly into her ear. “Perhaps if I quote the classics?”

“You’ve been waiting all day to do this ha-- haven’t you?” she stammered. “Molly Martin--” She threw her head back and moaned. “She’d find it nice, deliciously nice.” She leaned back into him, a hand snaking behind her head to grab his hair. His hat fell off as she took a handful of his dark blonde mat and tugged hard. “Fucking nice,” she said.

He gave a guttural laugh and kissed her throat as he picked up the pace, thrusting into her hard. She moaned again, louder this time. His hands worked on her clit, slow circles then speeding up that it took little time for her to come. She slapped the bench with a hand as she cried out before laying her hand over his to still his ministrations.

MacCready’s low grunts into ear told her he was close, his hands were now braced over the top of hers on the bench. He continued to thrust into her, emitting several more grunts in time with each thrust. Her chest plate clanked against the metallic edge of the bench in time with his movements.

He pulled out of her before he came and Molly sucked in a breath in response at the sudden removal of heat. She could feel the warm from his breath at the back of her neck as he gave one final long grunt as his orgasm was spent. She felt the slippery trickle on the bare skin of her behind. 

They remained close, both breathing heavy, his head heavy on her shoulder. His hands relaxed over hers and she stretched her fingers. 

When he removed his hands from hers, she lingered with hers still flattened on the bench until she felt him adjust himself and heard the sound of a buckle clicking into place. His hands then came back around to help Molly pull up her pants, her hands trembled at the fasteners.

She turned to him and he put his arms around her waist. She shook her head still breathless. “I’m pretty sure that eighteen year old Molly Martin would not have done anything like that. Despite how ‘nice’ it would be.” She kissed him. “You’re a scoundrel.”

“Eighteen year old RJ MacCready would have tried it on and if he got knocked back, well, there’s always whiskey and cigarettes.” He kissed her again, his lips pressed delicately against hers and when he pulled away, she could see his eyes shining.

They headed back into the front part of the diner. The rad storm was still blowing a gale outside. They sat and resumed holding hands across the diner table.

Molly’s cheeks still felt flushed and she felt a thin layer of sweat on her brow. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, the Blue Juke Diner made for a memorable Prom night,” Molly said, still slightly out of breath.

“Not just the kiss then?”

“It was all memorable but especially the kiss. Made my night.” The recollection of that night mixed with the more recent remnant pleasure gave Molly a feeling of serenity, and given what lay ahead, she grabbed hold of the feeling and held it tight. Even if it were to be fleeting, she wanted to feel elated, not sad, happy, not melancholic.

He ran a finger down the side of her face. “You would have been very kissable, Molly.”

She bowed her head. “I don’t know about that. But you-- ‘RJ’ MacCready--I’m sure were more than kissable.”

Outside the rad storm had abated. Molly noticed the silence and looked to MacCready a nervous smile dressing her lips. “I guess we should go.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve wanted a rad storm to last longer than a day,” he said.

They headed out of the diner and back on to the crumbling road to Sanctuary Hills. They reached the Red Rocket Truck Stop when MacCready squeezed Molly’s hand tight. “So this Vincent guy.”

She tilted her head towards him and narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been waiting to ask something about him?”

“Since we left the diner.” He squeezed her hand again. “Was he the first boy you ever-- kissed?”

“Are you being merely inquisitive?” she said in a chiding tone. “Or are you looking for more information?”

He looked ahead, the bridge to Sanctuary Hills was just around the corner. “Merely curious. That’s all.”

Molly tried to suppress a laugh. “He was, yes, my first kiss. Took him eight years to work up to it of course.”

“What ever happened to him?”

“He went to college on the East Coast. Married a lovely girl called Jean, a mathematician. From what I know, a woman with an amazing brain.” Molly gave a sad smile. “They had five kids, three boys, two girls.”

“Five?”

“Mhmm, five.”

“So did you and he--”

“MacCready, are you asking if I slept with him?”

MacCready whistled before answering. “Merely curious.”

“You said that already.”

They continued walking hand in hand in silence towards Sanctuary Hills.

MacCready began to whistle again and gave her furtive glances.

Molly stopped at the bridge over the river and faced him, laughing. “Oh, goodness me. Yes, yes I slept with him.”

“Not on Prom night, though.”

“No. It happened not long after, right before he left. We decided going into college that we didn’t want to just give it away to anyone, that what better way to end our time in high school.” She smiled, recalling how on a whim three months before Prom they had talked about it in a joking manner-- and it wasn’t until the day after Prom they realised that it would be inevitable. “It was like we were celebrating our friendship over the years with this intimacy. Something special to both of us.” She placed her hands on her hips. “So, MacCready. What do you want to know?”

“What was it like?” He had an amused tone in his voice.

“You want details?” She snorted a laugh. “What can I say. Um-- it was okay.” She dug a heel into a hole in the road. “It was in the back room of his parents house, on a bed they had laid out for his Uncle and Aunt who were visiting. They’d all gone on a Fourth of July picnic. Vincent and I said we were going to a friends place. I remember-- I remember we were naked under the covers and laughing so much it took a while to work out what we were doing.” Molly bit her lip and smiled. “I was so nervous, like my heart was going to leap out of my chest you know?”

“Yeah I remember that feeling.”

“I mean I’d never even kissed anyone before Prom and then I was here about to have sex with one of my best friends. And when it happened, I remember it kinda hurt, for me anyway. But we ate chocolate and drank all of his mother’s brandy schnapps after.”

“It hurt? Really?”

“Don’t look so worried. Just a bit. I put it down to nerves and not breaking out the schnapps first. The second time wasn’t so bad. Schnapps had kicked in by then.”

“I guess -- I guess what I really want to know is why you weren’t married to him.”

Molly took a step closer to him and brushed her hand over his shoulder. “A simple explanation. I didn’t marry him because I didn’t love him. We shared a lot together, and I might get confused about other things, stuff that I seem indecisive, even timid and shy about in some instances, but on that account, I always knew my own mind. Did you marry the first person you ever kissed? The first girl you ever slept with?”

He gave a loud surprised laugh. “Well, yes, as it happened, I did marry the first girl I ever slept with, and she was the first girl I ever loved. The first girl I kissed? Well, no. I, actually,‘RJ’ MacCready at that time, punched her in the face.”

Molly burst out laughing. “That sounds like a story and an explanation for another road trip.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “As far as the second girl I ever loved, we’ll just have to see how that pans out.”


	2. Needs of the many, needs of the few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready passes his time waiting for Molly to return from The Institute, unsure that she will. But he is a man who always does what is needed, no matter what her return might entail. Meanwhile, six year old MacCready gets his hands on a gun, and a first taste of death.
> 
> My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have done something: trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive. ~ Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much longer than usual chapter, hoping to keep a reign on things for the next few at least! Thankyou once again to [Thievinghippo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo) for the beta!

MacCready glanced down at his feet as he continued his march through the irradiated woodland. The dry dirt and gravel and brittle fallen leaves crunched under each of his deliberate footsteps. He stopped to cast a glance towards the sky. Through the stark, near empty canopy of trees, he could see the withering sunlight, the remaining leaves of the forever-sick trees fell gently, swirling downward and ending their descent on the dry and barren ground. A gentle wind blew and the cold hit the back of his neck. He pulled his scarf up higher and shivered as the chill travelled down his spine. 

He’d been tracking a small Radstag for over an hour with no clear shot and his head began to throb through his continual clenched jaw. As callous as it sounded, It was so much easier to kill a man than an animal. For the most part, a human was predictable. If you paid attention you could get all you need to know from watching them for five minutes: their allegiance, armor and its weak spot, their possible movements based on a stance or, if you could see their eyes, a glance in one direction. An animal though, you never knew what the hell they might do. How many times had he taken aim and misread their movements, seen its eyes go in one direction only for it to flee in the other? He’d killed enough of both to know the difference. Today, he’d been out hunting since mid-afternoon, and in three and half hours all he’d managed to kill were a bag full of squirrels. He was about to give up on the hunt and head back to the settlement when the Radstag jumped out from behind some bushes, startling him enough that he staggered back and fell as a fallen trunk caught his ankles.

“Oh for fu--” He stopped and grunted loudly. The Radstag stopped and its two heads stared at him before bounding away. “You ass--,” he grunted again, and moved to a kneeling position. Without taking his eyes off the Radstag he fumbled for his rifle at his feet, bought it slowly up and checked the scope.

“Come on, you two headed bastard. Sorry Duncan,” he muttered, feeling guilty once again his language had slipped. “Ahh, there you are. I got you now.” The animal hadn’t moved too far away and stopped to rub its hindquarters on a tree trunk. “Your flea ridden ass is mine.” He tapped the trigger lightly, took a breath and fired. The gun was loud but the bullet silent as it punctured the Radstag in the neck. MacCready gave a snort of satisfaction, emptied the chamber of the gun, stood, and slung the rifle and the sack full of squirrels over his back.

The Radstag had gone down quick, blood spurting from the gaping wound in the animal's neck. MacCready took another sack from his pack and stuffed the stag into it as best he could. If there had been two of them they could have strung it up on sticks. However, there was no one free-- too many other tasks to be done, and the settler who had accompanied him previously was down sick. Tonight he’d be covering the man’s shift on watch. He heaved the bag full of squirrels back over his shoulders.

“Oh crap,” he said, wrinkling his nose. The Radstag had clearly evacuated its bowels at some point, and mixed with a heavy musk scent, MacCready felt saliva pool at the back of his throat. He bent to dry reach before standing upright again. “The faster I get back--”

What should have been less than a fifteen minute journey back to Sanctuary hills took twice as long. Each twenty feet travelled becoming harder than the previous, it didn’t help then that the sacks thick hessian caught on branches and twigs as he walked. He only stopped himself from cursing by turning his thoughts to other physical exertions-- things far more pleasant than this, he even smiled as one of the sacks caught for the twentieth time. The tug he gave to free it sank into a background of thoughts of freckled legs slung over his shoulders. He stopped several times to take a drink from a flask and once, to pick flowers that a settler had mentioned might be good for a healing brew. Molly made it a hobby of sorts, trying different herbs and plants and flowers to make tea. He wasn’t the type to stand around picking flowers, but she’d like it, and that was enough to make him stop. 

The sky darkened and clouds rolled in, spraying the dry ground with a light drizzle, enough to dampen his enthusiasm for anything other than returning as fast as he could to the settlement, pleasant thoughts no substitute for a warm fire and a roof over your head. The closer he came to Sanctuary the heavier the rain became, enough that the water soaked through his scarf and once again a chill descended on him. 

On his return, MacCready found Jun standing over the cooking station preparing food for the rest of the settlers. “Jun,” he said quietly so as not to startle the man. He’d learned in his short time here that many of the settlers were nervous types.

“MacCready!” Jun’s eyes widened when he looked up.

“I have another stag. A nice bit of butchering could mean a good juicy steak maybe?”

Jun gave him a sad smile. ”If I can, I’m not very good at this preparing and cooking thing.”

“Everything you’ve cooked has been perfectly edible to me,” he replied and slapped down the Radstag on the preparation bench. “The stag’s gonna need a good clean though. Oh, and a bag of squirrels, too.”

Jun nodded and handed MacCready a bowl of bramble soup, flavoured with squirrel meat. “To warm you up, it’s gotten rather cold of late.” MacCready took it with a grin and sat down on a bench, watching Jun stirring the pot.

He took a spoonful, the tasty warm liquid hit his belly and hugged him like a warm summer breeze. He took a second spoonful and smiled at the memory of Molly’s face when she’d first been offered what he thought a delicacy. She’d taken the bowl from him reluctantly and the surprise that dawned over her face with the first mouthful was pure delight. It was the first time he really noticed her eyes. He could barely go a few hours without her drifting into her thoughts, even now after almost three weeks had passed since she left. The reminder of her absence - the teleporter - still stood outside the main house. The metal had folded and twisted in on itself the moment Molly had vanished from sight. He had wanted to throw up with the sickening thought that he may have just witnessed her death and had chided himself on the flippancy of his remarks to her before she stepped into the machine. Always with the damn mouth MacCready, he had said every day since. At least she had smiled at his words.

Since then, he’d thrown himself into settlement life, something he hadn’t done since Duncan was born. When it was him, Lucy and Duncan it was easy, to feel like part of a community, part of a family. He made a go if it too after Lucy died, and for a time he fell back into a routine, he was almost happy, but old thoughts and bad habits returned until everything finally fell to pieces the day Duncan became ill. Now at Sanctuary, he’d been the happiest he’d ever been, he was here to do what was needed. He’d volunteered to hunt, along with taking defence watch, but he had the rest of the time to himself, not that there was much of that considering the workload. But, at night, before slumber, when things in Sanctuary were at their most quiet and when whiskey hadn’t dulled the loneliness, he had time to think. Every day he hoped of some news, but nothing came. The only bright moments were several letters from Duncan, a drawing, a note from Stephanie saying he was improving every day, and another note talking about how inquisitive a child Duncan was becoming, just like his mom. 

There were also letters asking when he thought to return. He knew Duncan was well cared for. Stephanie and Abdul were great with him, and there were other children at the homestead, enough that a small school had been organised. The place had grown since he left, and now one of the homestead settlers was an old friend - Joseph. MacCready sighed and returned a note straight away to Abdul with ‘soon’ scrawled across in his messy handwriting. By soon he meant as soon as Molly came back, as soon as she had found Shaun. If she came back.

The soup worked a treat, he felt warm again. Whiskey would have worked equally well but best be on alert for the shift ahead. “Radstag stew if not steak tomorrow, Jun?” he asked.

“I think it would be a welcome change from bramble soup.”

MacCready said goodnight and headed back to the house and to the room he had occupied with Molly. Since they returned from Homeplate, Molly had, for the first time here in Sanctuary, invited him into her bedroom, the one she had shared with Nate. He had told her then that he would sleep back in his old bunk, if she wanted. When she said no, that wouldn’t do, he’d felt a lump form in his throat, how much she had given him and continued to give made him feel like a beggar invited to a king's feast. They made love and everything about that moment felt _right_. That both of them had moved forward. They had laughed and sighed and moaned all within a space of an hour of arriving. He was glad Sturges had taken it upon himself to put a door on the bedroom.

On his way to the house, MacCready pulled out a cigarette, surprised that they hadn’t gotten too damp on the way back from the hunt. As he patted his pocket for a light, he passed the shuffling form of Mama Murphy.

“I hope you are planning on sharing that whiskey I saw in the pool room, MacCready-- maybe tonight?” she asked in her slow drawl.

He gave a quiet chuckle. “No drinking for me tonight, Mama Murphy -- I’m on extra patrol until midnight because someone’s sick.”

“Damn, after a day’s hunt?”

“Afraid so. RJ MacCready, doing what’s needed since 2272.”

“Was it a good one today?”

“Not bad. Lots of squirrels and a Radstag. That means a stew tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s nice. The General might like that, given how tired she looked.”

“Wait, what?” The cold that he felt previously at the back of his neck moved to his gut and the cigarette fell unlit from his mouth. “You mean Molly?”

“Yes, the General. She looked awfully tired.”

“She’s here? When did she get here?”

“Arrived almost directly after you--”

He didn’t wait to hear out the rest, the adrenaline hit him as if he had just heard the low growl of a deathclaw. He sprinted towards the house.

_”It’s only a loan RJ. Just remember that okay, and no, you can’t take it out with the scav team. You’re not ready for that yet,” Michael said. He was one of the older children in Little Lamplight, almost fourteen and the current Mayor._

_“Why the fuck not?” MacCready said as he took the rifle from Michael’s hands. He rubbed his hand along the barrel to the end, amazed at the smoothness of the metal and the cold feel of steel in his small palm. MacCready admired Michael-- the way he handled himself, the way he took no guff and he hoped one day to emulate the older boy._

_“Look shithead, you might have some natural talent but you’re only six. Do you remember what happened last time I let a six year take a gun with the scav team?”_

_MacCready kicked the dirt in front of him. “I’m almost seven, but, yeah, I remember.”_

_“Take the gun, get some practice and if you actually find your own gun on a scav, we can talk about letting you take it with you next time. The last fucking thing I need is for you, or any of the others to get shot.”_

_MacCready nodded. He’d been on the scav team for three months now, he was little and wiry and could fit into tight places the others couldn’t. He was the only one in Little Lamplight fit for the job, the others being too scared, or as Caps put it, ‘what RJ lacks in size he makes up for with balls the size of a Mungo’. So despite Michael’s informal rule about age on the scav team, he’d let him go, with a stern warning from Red following soon after to watch out._

_Today would mark MacCready’s seventh time out, with Joseph and Sticky and this time they’d also have Red with them. She told them bringing back sub-par meds was not gonna work and she’d have to come because they were next to useless, they needed more than just books, ammo and dandy apples. Today's scav would be an old communications tower just outside Fort Bannister._

_“Just fucking watch out for the Mungo mercenaries wandering out from the base, and watch out for cross fire between them and the goddamn Brotherhood. Last time we went out there bullets were firing left and right. And take only what we need. If it's not necessary -- don’t fucking scav it. If you can’t carry it-- don’t fucking scav it. If it’s dangerous in any way-- don’t fucking scav it. Understand?”_

_Red stood with her hands on her hips shaking her head. “Michael, can you watch your swearing? MacCready’s picking up some bad habits.”_

_“I am fucking not,” MacCready said._

_Michael slapped the back of MacCready’s head. “Sorry, Red.”_

_“Hey!” MacCready scowled._

_Red shook her head again. “C’mon, if everyone is done let’s go.”_

_The first time MacCready had stepped outside he was amazed at the brightness of the sun, his eyes stung and he’d blinked back tears at the pain of it. It was the same feeling every time, even when the sun was low on the horizon. The openness of the road scared him at first like he might fall into the sky somehow, but now he was growing to like it, if they only let him take a gun he’d feel like there would be nothing to stop him, not even a hoard of Mungos. The trip to the tower was straightforward enough, MacCready spent time looking at the trees, which for the most part he was told were dead, but he liked them anyway. They were quiet most of the way, except for Sticky’s intentional deference towards Red. Joseph rolled his eyes every time he opened his mouth but MacCready had no idea what was going on. Sticky was just talking to her right?_

_He and Joseph were just out of earshot of Red and Sticky. “Why do you keep doing that, Joseph?”_

_“Do what?”_

_“Every time Sticky says something to Red. You roll your eyes.”_

_“You really don’t know, RJ?”_

_MacCready shook his head._

_“Such a young soul,” Joseph said._

_“Cut that shit, you’re what, like less than a year older than me?”_

_Joseph pushed his hand in Red and Sticky’s direction. “Sticky likes her. It’s obvious how he talks to her. And it’s kinda funny. God, you’re a dumbass. You know how Angela keeps finding ways to talk to you? Same thing.”_

_“I don’t understand. Angela just wants to talk, that’s all.”_

_“Yeah, talk.” Joseph snorted. “Dumbass.”_

_MacCready wasn’t sure what Joseph really meant, Sticky liked lots of people, Angela talked to everyone, but why the eye roll? He shrugged. A question for another day maybe. If he kept it up Joseph would just get pissed at him._

_“Hey, you two don’t fall behind,” Red called from the front._

_They reached their destination and Sticky made MacCready climb a large tree as a lookout. “Whadda see, RJ?”_

_MacCready looked through his binoculars. “Small fortifications, a couple of outhouses. No one there though.”_

_“Right, let’s move forward. Let’s take a look inside the bigger buildings,” Sticky said._

_There were several buildings surrounding the communications tower but the largest was the only one directly connected. The bricks were sturdy with no appearance of damage from the outside. A scattering of rubbish filled the inside of the building and they walked around the perimeter several times and within the largest building to secure it. The scav team then began their search._

_The worst thing about scav team work was the fact they’d be lugging crap all the way back to Little Lamplight and MacCready hated it. Searching was fun, he’d found numerous books and comics since he started and Joseph, supposedly pegged as the smartest in the group had been given a job by the current Little Lamplight school marm, Josie to scav as many books, paper and pencils as he could, he didn’t mind, but lugging large bags of food or scrapped metal was a major pain in the ass._

_The haul was good, two ham radios, a sack full of food and a bunch of bandages and medical chems. Red was more than happy, Sticky was elated, and Joseph less than impressed. On the way out, MacCready spotted a partially open vent with something reflecting off the surface inside._

_“Hang on-- let me--” he said as he prised off the vent covering and crawled inside. He’d gotten ten feet down the vent just to see it was another vent going down and a light shining off its surface. He lost his footing and fell. He tumbled hitting the edge with his head and groaning loud before landing on a mattress._

_“What the fuck--” said a voice._

_When he looked up he was staring straight into the face of a startled Mungo. She was thin and emaciated, almost skeletal and MacCready recoiled from her as she came closer._

_“What do we have here?” She licked her dry and cracked lips._

_“Stay the fuck away from me, Mungo.” His voice was as loud and as threatening as a six-- almost seven year old could muster._

_Her head tilted in in confusion. “Mungo?” She reached out and grabbed the material of his coat holding it in an iron grip. “What are you doing here?”_

_He swallowed hard and kicked out at her shins._

_She fell to the ground with a groan. “Why you little shit. I’m gonna skewer you and serve you on a fucking platter.”_

_MacCready turned and scrambled away from her on his knees. She grabbed at his legs but he was too fast, but there was nowhere to run except past her again. On a table near a bed was a small gun, he picked it up and as she came close he waved it in her face. “Don’t fucking come any closer, Mungo, or I’ll shoot you in the fucking face.”_

_The woman stopped short, put her hands up and began to laugh. “Put the fucking gun down, kid. You’re only gonna make it worse.”_

_“From where I’m fucking standing it already is.” A fleeting thought of ‘what would Michael do’ went through his head. He’d shoot the fucker of course._

_“Wow, you got a mouth on ya. Ever thought of joining us.” Her tongue came out again thick and gross with pustules on the tip. She edged closer to him._

_“I know what happens to little kids out here, fucking Mungos not to be fucking trusted.” He’d heard stories of slavery and other wretched things, although he never knew anyone to have been taken, still, he was wary, there was no fucking way he’d let that happen to him. “So stay fucking back or I’ll shoot you in the fucking face.”_

_She scowled, screamed and lunged for him. The gun went off and hit her square in the chest. She wasn’t wearing chest armor._

_MacCready blinked as speckles of blood hit his face. He turned his gaze to the gun in his hand then at the bloody corpse of the Mungo he’d just shot in front of him. She was still twitching and her mouth moving like an old puppet, but with no words escaping. The rest of the scav team came running into the room having followed the sound of the gunshot and scream._

_“Jesus, RJ, what the fuck.” Sticky said, his eyes bulging. Joseph’s and Red’s mouths were agape as they all stood staring at the Mungo now a bloody mess on the floor._

_MacCready looked up at them all. “I killed her.” He felt his face flush embarrassed, was he supposed to do that? Was he even allowed given they wouldn’t even let him take a gun? “I think she’s dead.”_

_“No fucking kidding, RJ,” Joseph said._

_Red smacked Joseph in the shoulder, bit her lip, and looked around what appeared to be an underground bunker. There were four beds and more guns and ammo than one person would need. “Shit, this is a fucking raider hangout. Grab the ammo, grab any guns you can carry and let's get the fuck out of here before anyone comes back otherwise we’re cooked squirrels.”_

_Sticky and Joseph began to trawl the room, but MacCready remained still. He looked up at Red a blank expression crossing his small face. “I killed her, Red. Did I kill her?”_

_Red laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay, MacCready, sometimes we need to do these things. Go help Joseph and then we’ll go home.”_

_MacCready nodded and followed Joseph. He was quiet as Joseph passed packets of ammo to him and remained quiet for the return to Little Lamplight. He was still processing what had happened back at the comm tower. Had he just killed someone? He’d been told by others who’d gone out on the scav that sometimes they had to do it, to get away. However, the last time that happened-- he couldn’t remember. Ghouls and mutants they stayed away from. Sometimes they’d come across a friendly Mungo, but that was rare, mercenaries and raiders were the worse, there were slavers too, and they’d been warned multiple times to stay away from them._

_When they arrived back, Red spoke in hushed tones with Michael off in the corner before they took MacCready aside in the med clinic. “Just want to take a look at you, MacCready,” Red said. But when they bought him in, Red stood in the corner as Michael sat MacCready down. “How you doing, RJ?”_

_“I’m okay.” His voice was quiet and unsure._

_“About that Mungo. The one you killed. You weren’t scared, were ya?”_

_“Only for a second. Like when she ran at me. She had this look in her eye, I knew she was gonna kill me.”_

_“That’s good. Good. Fear keeps you on your toes, you gotta have a little of that. The rest of the time if you have the balls, you gotta stand your ground. But just remember, don’t let anyone see that fear, keep it in reserve for the occasion you need to do something like what you did at the comm station. You understand?”_

_“I guess. That’s easy.” He had been more fearful than he’d let on, but there was no need for Michael to know that, or anyone really, he’d keep that close to his chest._

_Michael laughed and shook his head. “I see you bought home a stack of guns. A good haul. There’s a couple of nice pieces there. Why don’t you pick one or two, maybe a sniper rifle and one of those pipe revolvers.”_

_MacCready’s eyes widened. “Really?”_

_“You brought ‘em back, I say you get dibs. Not a gift, a payment for a job well done.” Michael glanced over to Red who was giving a disapproving shake of her head._

_“Does that mean I can take one out next scav?”_

_“Yeah, it does. Now get the fuck out of here.”_

_MacCready looked to Red then back to Michael, he sensed an argument might arise, given how much he knew Red hated seeing some of the younger Little Lamplighters with guns. He raced out of the room before Red had time to reply. He headed up to the souvenir shop where Sticky was laying out the supplies the scav team had bought back and Joseph was talking to a small group of Little Lamplighters. Word had spread fast that MacCready had killed a Mungo._

_“Here is the man himself,” Joseph said._

_“Did you really kill a Mungo, RJ?” Angela pressed her way through the small crowd._

_MacCready straightened his back, his chest puffed out, he sure as hell was gonna milk this, might mean Deezer finally giving up that fucking comic he’d held on to for over a month now, and Lucy, well, she always had the best candy collection. “I sure as fuck did.”_

_“Weren’t you scared?” Squirrel added._

_MacCready frowned. “Nope. Why the fuck would I be scared? I did what was needed. I’ll always do what’s needed. You can fucking count on RJ MacCready.”_

Inside the house, MacCready found Nick sitting on one of the couches. “Valentine? What-- what are you--“ He shook his head. “Nevermind, where’s the General? Where’s Molly?”

“She’s in her bedroom, MacCready. Has been for most of the afternoon.”

“What happened? Did you find--” He glanced around the room looking for Shaun.

“Best that the General tell you what happened,” Nick replied.

He nodded and stepped quietly down the hall to the door of their room and tapped lightly. A stiffness fell across the muscles in his back and his heart beat faster.

He heard a quiet voice reply to the knock. “Come in.”

Molly was lying on her side on the opposite side of the bed, her back to him and the covers pulled back to expose her legs. She was wearing her old shirt and no pants and her feet were the only part of her tucked under the sheet. She reached her hand behind her and towards him.

“MacCready.” Her voice was stilted, quiet, barely above a whisper.

He gave a quiet laugh. “You knew it was me, then?”

“I can smell cigarettes, gun oil, and powder. I’d recognise that smell ten feet away.” She wiggled her fingers for him to grab and only turned when his weight hit the part of the bed next to her.

Her eyes were puffy, red at the corners, with evidence of recent tears.

When he looked at her, he felt some of the tension melt in his shoulders. He tossed his hat in a corner and laid his head next to hers, close enough to see the strain and weariness across her face. She smelled different too, not like the usual soap and peppermint; this was a sanitised smell, not unlike the first waft that hits you when you walk into a med clinic. Her eyes had a faraway look.

“You're safe.” He pressed forward and kissed her. Her response was a light peck of his lips, barely a touch. “What happened, Molly?”

Molly bit her lip and sat up and hugged a pillow between her chest as she brought her knees closer.

MacCready sat up and laid a hand on her bare shin.

“I have so much to tell you, and one-- two things to ask.” Her voice was croaky and barely a squeak. She placed a hand on his cheek and her eyes danced about his face.

He tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

Molly remained silent for a moment then spoke. “I made it to the Institute. And immediately when I walked inside there was a boy. It was Shaun. They had him in room. It looked like-- a glass cell. He didn’t know me. But I knew him. He had-- Nate’s eyes.” She gave short awkward laugh. “And my ginger hair and freckles.”

MacCready rubbed a comforting hand up and down her shin.

“But-- but it wasn’t Shaun. A-- a man came just as Shaun started to panic. He kept crying out for ‘Father’. The man uttered a recall code.”

“The Shaun you saw was a synth?”

She nodded. “I was ready to kill the man. I told him in no uncertain terms I would unless he led me to Shaun.”

“I don’t think I would have stopped for an explanation. Where was he? Where were they keeping him?”

“He was there at the Institute. He’s everywhere and he’s nowhere.” Molly’s voice was pained and her eyes widened as she stared into the corner of the room.

His brows squished together. “That’s cryptic.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Sorry, you asked a straight question. You deserve a straight answer. I’ve gone over this a dozen times in my head already and it still doesn’t feel real.” Molly rubbed her brow. “I’ve been working under the assumption, after Nick and I saw Kellogg’s memories, that Shaun was now a ten year old boy. That only ten years ago Kellog came and killed Nate and stole my baby boy from his arms.” She shook her head. “It took me a while to adjust to that, and I had prepared myself-- to have missed most of my son’s childhood. And I was prepared to start anew if I had to, even if that meant winning his trust. But this, I--“ She shook her head and then closed her eyes. “I wasn’t ready.”

“What happened?” 

“He told me Shaun was closer than I realised. He told me he was ‘Father’ that he was--” Her voice caught. “That he was Shaun.”

“The man? But how--”

“It wasn’t ten years that had passed, but sixty. Sixty years.” Molly cast her eyes down and shook her head. “I didn’t know the passage of time, stuck in that vault, in that-- cryo chamber.”

“But why give you Kellogg? His memories?” He couldn’t imagine his own reaction to a sixty year old Duncan -- but knowing he’d have missed most of his son’s it would have to hurt.

“A ruse. A method to get rid of him. They used me-- us, to kill him, getting rid of someone they now thought a burden and thinking I might need some sort of revenge.”

“For taking Shaun?”

“Yes, but they don’t know me, I never wanted revenge. I wanted my husband and my son back. I could have killed a hundred Kellogg's and nothing would change that. You understand that, don’t you?”

MacCready pondered for a moment what his life would have been like without Molly, if she had her husband and son here with her. He’d likely still be waiting in the back room of the Third Rail, or worse, dead in a ditch outside the Medtek building. “I killed a lot of ghouls, after Lucy died. It didn’t bring her back, it didn’t make me feel any different either.” His hand made a fist, how many hours had he spent thinking otherwise? “It was futile. In the end I realised that killing a hundred-- a thousand-- feral ghouls would just be a waste of ammo.” He unclenched his hand. “How do you know this man wasn’t lying?”

Molly put her hand on his face again, the softness and warmth of her touch something he forgotten he missed. “Because I looked into his eyes, and they were Nate’s. It was unmistakable. He couldn’t-- he couldn’t be anyone else.” Her lip quivered and her eyes swam with unfallen tears.

“Oh, Molly.” MacCready’s hand covered hers. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed and swept away a tear. “That’s only half of it. He told me they took him as a baby because they needed his DNA, that’s what I meant by he’s everywhere and nowhere. His DNA-- my DNA are a part of every human synth. They needed it ‘uncorrupted’ and without the taint from the radiation that affected everyone else's genetic code.” Molly rubbed her arm and shivered. “And I was the backup.”

He felt the veins throb in his neck, a slow anger building outward at what had been done, to all those replaced with human synths, to Shaun, to Molly. He leaned forward and took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. “This isn’t how I thought this would end. Not like this. Not for you, Molly.”

“Neither did I. They want me to stay, you know. To be part of The Institute, the Institute Shaun now heads. The mother to-- “

“What did you say?” MacCready felt his heartbeat quicken, perturbed by the idea that they thought she would stay. 

“I lied and told them I would think about it. Everything I’ve seen and experienced in the Commonwealth, they thought I was tired, that I would simply give up and lay my head on one of Institute beds-- give up on the Minutemen, give up on the settlers I vowed to protect. To all those who placed a measure of trust in me.” She lifted her head to look directly in his eyes. “To give up on you.” She shook her head. “No, Shau-- The Institute is wrong about me.”

He ran his hand down to her shoulder and grasped it tight. He didn’t want to let go. “What are you going to do?” 

“I intend to go back to the Railroad. I’ll be their damn spy. Because-- because if human synths-- if they have the remotest chance of being sapient, of being more than tools, they deserve more than what The Institute-- what my son-- can give them.” She rubbed her hands over face. “I need to show Shaun that he’s wrong. That he’s as much a pawn now even though he heads the damn organisation.” Molly’s mouth tightened and her eyes fixed on the light in the corner of the room. “This Commonwealth deserves more than this, to be guinea pigs for those-- wanting to play-- for those wanting to play at being gods.”

MacCready knew that it was hard for Molly to admit. She was a former scientist, she believed in the process-- she believed good can come from scientific progression, but he also could see they had broken her, they had both misunderstood both her reaction and motive. He sat quietly next to her, held her hand and watched as her lip trembled, and as she tugged at the collar of her shirt. “You know I’ll help you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.”

Molly didn’t smile, she looked away from him. His brow furrowed. “Molly?”

She turned her face back to his. “I have something to ask,” she said, her voice pensive. He could see more tears beginning to pool. ”And I don’t ask this without a heavy heart.”

He swallowed hard, unsure as to what it might be. “Anything.” 

“You need to leave.” Her eyes were soft, concerned, pleading.

The words made his stomach clench. What had he said to make her say this? He closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh. “What? Why?”

“You should go back to the Capital Wasteland. Go see Duncan, go see your son.” Her gaze darted away from his face but he could see the desperation in her eyes.

He lowered his head and shook it. “Duncan is good, you--”

“No.” Molly said between quivering lips as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “You need to leave. You need to go. Duncan needs his father. I need--”

He grabbed both of her hands. “What do you need, Molly? I’ll do anything, you know but I don’t--”

She gripped his face with soft palms. “I _need_ you to go to your son. I _need_ you to tell him you love him.” Her voice was low and mournful, her face a mess of unwiped tears and her eyes swimming with more. “I _need_ you tell him you will always be there for him no matter what happens. And I _need_ you to do this for me because I-- because I can’t. I can’t do it for Shaun.”

MacCready grabbed hold of her around the waist and her arms folded around his neck. He held her tight against him. She sobbed uncontrollably onto his shoulder and he felt his own emotions breaking. Her son, lost for good, and all she wanted was for him to see Duncan. He didn’t know what good he had done to deserve her.

“Molly Gould you are too damn good for this world, too damn good for an asshole mercenary like me.” He held her tight until the sobs began to diminish. He turned and kissed her cheek. 

When her crying subsided to sniffles, she released a hold of his neck and his arms slackened around her waist. She pulled away enough to turn her face up to his. “You make me feel safe, and I love you for it. Go do that for Duncan.”

It had been a long time since he felt he had the capacity to make someone feel safe. He could see in her eyes that she meant it. If he needed a tether to tie his heart to hers this would be it.

However much she looked like a startled deer, and as reluctant as he was to leave her side, he knew in his heart, this woman had an inner strength that surpassed any of the shit he himself had gone through. Whatever she’d suffered in the Wasteland hadn’t beaten her down, it made her stronger and he knew then that it wasn’t her that needed comforting, that it wasn’t her that needed their hand held, it was him. He’d hidden behind the toughness he always showed to the outside, he’d learned from the best. Her kindness and openness had cut through those layers like the sharpest of knives. And in doing this she had given him his heart's desire: a companion, a lover, a shoulder to lean on.

He nodded and wiped a thumb at the pool of tears that had begun to form at the corner of his eyes before returning his hand to her waist. “If _you need_ it, I’ll go.” He kissed her hard, her face still hot and wet, and she responded in kind. 

They laid down on the bed facing each other, smothering each other with kisses.

“I would have prefered to have taken you with me, you know. I even planned it in my head that way,” he said.

“And I would have come, had things-- had they been different. But I don’t know how much time I’ll have. I’m free to come and go from The Institute now, but if they knew I was working with the Railroad-- then that privilege would be revoked. I have to stay, I have to see this through.”

He nodded. “When should I leave?”

She took his hand and laid it against her cheek. “Well, about that-- do you remember what you said to me that day in Sunshine Tidings?”

He wiped a thumb against remnant tears. “I said a lot of things I’m trying to forget. Every damn day.”

She sniffed. “You said that running away was my specialty. And you were right. I did all of this to forget some of the pain. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“You haven’t, you faced The Institute, and hell, lost your husband, and now your son.”

“The first thing I did when I came back to today, I spoke with Preston, I’ve asked him to retrieve Nate’s body from the vault. He’s been there too long. I intend on burying him tomorrow. It’s time to put my husband to rest. Will you stay until then?”

“Of course. I'll stay.” He kissed her and bought her in closer. She nestled her face into his chest and he brushed his hands over her hair. He glanced at his watch in the process. “Damn, I forgot. I have to go on watch in about ten minutes.”

She turned to him. “Go then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

“I’m gonna stay, just a little bit longer.”

~~

He returned after midnight to see Molly laying in the same place and breathing softly. Moonlight poked between curtains giving the room a soft blue glow. It was only when he began to undress he noticed the strange pale blue jumpsuit draped over a chair. On the table there was a pile of clean t-shirts and men's underwear. He gave a quiet laugh, even at the Institute and with all that had happened she had collected stuff to bring back. He finished undressing and slipped in under the covers, careful not to wake her. 

He had just begun to drift off to sleep when he felt Molly’s leg thrown over his, her hand rubbing circles on his belly, her breath on his collarbone and lips kissing his shoulder.

His eyes shuddered to open to see hers wide open and awake. She kissed him. He returned her kiss as she moved over to straddle him, her hand moved from his belly to his cock rubbing up and down it’s growing length.

“I missed you. I need you,” she said, her voice was breathless and trembling through parted moist lips that glistened in the moonlight.

“I missed you too.” He undid the buttons of her shirt whilst she remained straddling his lap. When the last button was undone, he snuck his hands around her waist as he moved to a slight sitting position and his mouth went to soft skin of the tops of her breasts. He caressed her sides and felt her shiver under his touch. He pulled back the shirt to kiss her shoulders then turned to her mouth for a slow and passionate kiss.

She pushed him back down and with barely a handful of strokes, he was hard as the steel of his rifle. He’d felt silk few times in his life, he knew it to be soft and delicate, and when she rose up and then lowered herself on to him it was as though his cock had been surrounded with it. When she gave a small whimper he pulsed inside her. He resisted the urge to buck, letting her set the pace of a slow rise and fall. He lay his hands on on her thighs and closed his eyes. 

When he opened them the light from the moon reflected on the shirt still draping her arms. He tugged at the sleeves. “Take this off,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”

She stilled as she removed the shirt and threw it off to the side before returning to her slow and steady movements. 

MacCready reached and squeezed her breasts with both hands then moved one hand down to grip her her thigh, the other traced a line from her breasts, over her stomach then down to her soft ginger curls. She sighed when his thumb disappeared between her folds and she gave a small moan when he found her clit, erect and ready. Molly’s laid her palms on his chest as she began to move faster. Her breathing was ragged as his thumb pressed harder. His coarse fingers moved over her clit easily given how wet she was.

His eyes washed over her body. He loved watching her breasts bounce as she moved and the curve her mouth made with each sound that escaped her lips. He loved the whimper she released when he hit the sweet spot on her clit, the moan and held breath when she hit the peak and the laugh when she finished as she pushed his head or his hand away, her clit too sensitive to be touched. The visual feast of her on top made it difficult to not just to slam into her despite his weariness from the day’s busy tasks. Most of all he loved the intimacy they shared after sex, legs folded with one another and soft kisses, laughter, and an honesty that cut right to the heart. He wanted to take on her burdens for his own, but he knew this would be as close as he’d get.

She let out a series of guttural moans, and he knew she was close, she stopped and he felt contractions around his cock. He couldn’t take the need any longer and removed his hand, and flipped her over on to her back. She gasped and squeaked out his name then kissed him. Her legs folded around him so effortlessly it was as though the three weeks had barely passed. He drove hard into her, and with her arching into him with each thrust, there would be no way he’d last at this rate, and when the familiar coil hit his groin he pulled out and spilled on to her stomach. Her hand came down to tug on him as he groaned into her chest. 

He felt like a dead weight on top of her and for few moment their breaths fell in time with one another as they slowed, their heartbeats returned to normal. “Molly,” he said, his voice euphoric and high pitched as he turned his face to hers. Even in the dim light he could see her face was flushed, her face lustrous.

She ran her hands through his hair. “Yes, my lovely boy?” she whispered, her voice sounding drained and tired.

He rubbed his nose on her chest and then kissed each breast. “I’m glad you exist in the world and that I’m lucky enough to know you,” he said with no reservation or clarification. No conditions. Having her here had meant his world had changed, his life had turned around. He could see Molly’s hand in the settlements, in the face of the settlers, and all the good things in the world. RJ MacCready had always done what was needed, nothing had changed on that front, he would return to the Capital Wasteland, to his old homestead and to Duncan, because _he_ needed to do that as much as she did.


	3. Hush little baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly arrives at The Institute and comes face to face with heartache and relives sorrow from the past. Back in Sanctuary, MacCready and Molly discuss the road ahead.

_Day One_

“Hush little baby-- don’t say a word--” Molly blinked the water from her eyes as the rhyme fell from her lips.

The Institute rooms were bleak, nothing warm or homely about them. The water, clean and clear, with only the barest odour of sanitation, ran over Molly’s face. Corralled in a squatted position on the shower floor, there was barely space for the water to fall after running over her naked form. How many times has a scene like this played out in a movie? Devastation and grief pushing a person to cowering in the corner of a shower stall. However, Molly wasn’t an actor, and this wasn’t a movie.

She remembered the shards of her favourite teapot sitting broken and scattered on her kitchen floor, the result of one more heartbreak after loss. She remembered the feeling that almost crushed her for good, which almost stopped her attempts at trying for a family. There were only so many times you could glue back together delicate China. With each break, you lose a sliver, swept under a rug or away with a broom to the outside. How many times could she be broken, how many times could this post-war world pull the rug out from under her, how many tears had she shed for Nate, for Shaun, for herself?

Tonight there would be no more crying. She laughed instead, at the tight space she found herself in, at the wrinkles and puckering forming on her scrubbed skin, at the memory and the pain, at the bruises left on her heart. She stared into the tiles of the sterile Institute bathroom and let the water be her tears.

_"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird--" Molly leaned down and kissed Shaun's forehead as he suckled. “And if that mocking bird don't sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if --" An audible click turned Molly's attention away from Shaun and towards Nate standing barely five feet away and holding a camera._

_"Don't stop," Nate said as he put the camera on the coffee table and knelt down beside them. His finger traced lightly over Shaun's hand, his digit large compared to his son's, currently sitting on Molly's upper chest. "I love you both so much."_

_Molly placed a hand on his cheek. "I know it's just all the feel-good hormones running through me, but you’re gonna make me cry, Nathaniel Gould."_

_Nate leaned in and kissed her before he stood and moved to the kitchen bench. He picked up a newspaper, sighed and shook his head. "Things are getting worse by the sounds. It wouldn't surprise me if I get called back up for service."_

_Molly's brow furrowed and she felt her mouth go dry. "They would do that? So soon after you retired?"_

_"Yeah, they would. If things are as bad as they say. All I can say in reply is thank god we signed up for that vault. I told Mom and Dad they should do the same, if there was one nearby."_

_"I guess if anything it's peace of mind," Molly said as she pulled Shaun off her breast and switched him to the other side. He gave a small cry at the intrusion to his feed. "It's okay, sweetie, I know you haven't finished." Shaun settled and Molly ran a hand over his head and yawned._

_Nate put the paper aside. "What do you say that when Shaun's done with lunch, I take him for walk and you go take a nap?"_

_"That sounds like a wonderful idea." She laid another kiss on Shaun's forehead then reached out with a spare hand towards Nate. "Let's hope the world calms a little and your deployment never happens. I don't know what I would have done without you around these past few months. These past few years."_

_He took her hand and squeezed. "You would have done perfectly fine without me, Molly. You know that, you just don't know how to tell yourself. I'm only here to inform you otherwise, Mrs Gould. But, we’re together now."_

_“I want your hand to be the only one I’ll ever need to hold,” she said as she squeezed his hand back._

_Shaun lifted from Molly's breast and made a gurgling sound. Nate knelt down again. "You look milk drunk, little buddy. C'mon give your Momma a break." He took Shaun from Molly's arms and cradled him against his shoulder as he stood. "C'mon sleepy Momma, off to bed." He helped Molly pull herself to standing._

_She leaned up for a kiss and kissed Shaun's hand before heading towards the bedroom. "Have a nice walk," she said with a sleepy smile draping her face._

_~  
Molly woke later feeling slightly disorientated. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock by the bed. "Two hours? Really? I must have needed that," she sighed and stood, stretching her arms above her head. She headed down the hall and back towards the living room._

_Codsworth was packing the washing machine with more dirty clothes as she passed the laundry. He tipped an arm to her. "I hope you are feeling well rested, Miss Molly."_

_"I am, thank you, Codsworth. Another load already?”_

_“Yes, I like to keep on top of things as you know. Best all round.”_

_“Is Nate back?" She could never get used to calling Nate 'Mister Nate'._

_"Mister Nate and Master Shaun returned thirty minutes ago, Miss Molly," he replied._

_She nodded and walked into the living room to find Nate dozing with Shaun lying face down, his fat little cheek squished against Nate’s chest. She felt a flutter hit her stomach and smiled. It had been a long journey to get here, to conceive, and to come home with a babe in their arms and not more questions as to why things weren’t working for them. Three years of poking and prodding with needles and doctors, pills and potions followed by heartbreak and tears over cups of tea. All the struggles melted in a moment at the sight of her boys asleep on the couch. Molly picked up the camera and took several shots. "My boys," she whispered._

_She put the camera back down and walked into the kitchen to prepare some tea. As she filled the kettle she smiled again. "My boys." She laughed and shook her head. "I think I'll never tire of saying that."_

The institute gave her a clean jumpsuit to wear, took her armor and General’s uniform to clean, left her creams and moisturisers and even something akin to toothpaste, not like she found on the road, but fresh, minty even. It felt surreal, as though she’d woken in a dream. She slipped on the underwear and suit and sat down glancing around the room. In one corner, her journal sat on a desk. Some drawers stood near the opening of the bathroom. On the other side of the room, a door led to an alcove with a single bed, more drawers and a small side table. Outside the door and down the hall a balcony looked down onto The Institute atrium.

Molly sat on the bed and stared at the grey linoleum floor. Everything she believed was a lie, that it hadn’t been ten years, but sixty. That he had been safe when the reality was he’d been used, been an experiment in whatever the hell this was. There’s a name for those who believe what they’re captors tell them, that after years it was all he had known. Deacon was right; don’t trust everyone. She had always given people the benefit of the doubt, given them the freedom - given them enough rope, and it was rare that someone hung themselves with it. Here though? In this damn hellhole she’d been thrown into, the rope she let them have she found around her own neck, tightening.

She had a decision to make. She _could_ wallow in tears and sadness. It would not be the first time-- once before, when things got too hard, when she was at her lowest point when she and Nate had tried and failed to start a family and the losses she suffered were beginning to accumulate and wear her down. The tipping point had been the sudden evacuation of any and all feelings. She was close to that now. She hoped never to reach that tipping point again. What did she have to look forward to now? A life in the Institute with a son-- with a man she barely knew-- whose values she couldn’t recognise as either her own or Nate’s, or a life in the Wasteland with hazards and danger.

Her thoughts drifted to those who had helped her and given her reassurance, Nick, Piper and Preston. To Deacon who schooled her in the lies that this place tells you, to Curie, so new to the Wasteland, like her, but without the baggage. Even Strong, in his limited way provided something to her-- hope that there was more to the Wasteland and that the milk of human kindness did exist.

Then there was MacCready. She’d been so reluctant to think they could be more than boss and employee, more than an occasional comfort. For someone so young he’d seen so much, and yet he felt _stable_. He was like a page of a well-loved book, you knew when you returned to it, it would say the same things, it would provide the same comfort, it would give you what you need even when you didn’t know what that need was, and she loved him for it.

She was free to roam The Institute as she pleased. Father-- Shaun, asked her to visit with the scientists and talk with them, see how things ran, and gave her a device so that she could come and go as she pleased. His words rang in her ears and her first instinct on staring into his eyes-- Nate’s eyes-- after hearing the revelation was to run and never return. Her son was-- not her son, this place, not as she thought. She could run, go back to the vault, closet herself back in that cryo chamber, and pray that no one ever wake her from the cold slumber.

Her thoughts turned to the last time she made to run from everything, where the sound of splintering wood and a vase shattering at her feet made her realise she was made of sterner stuff, so instead she laid down, folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. A familiar rhyme sent her to sleep.

_The shards of the teapot lay on the floor along with remnants of tea leaves from the last brew. Molly knelt on the ground, the sharpest and largest shard tearing at her knee. Blood dripped from the wound. She ignored it as she picked up the remnant pieces and placed them in the dustpan. When she completed picking up all the shards, she sat down on the floor, her back to the bench, her knees splayed out and her skirt riding up her legs._

_She stared at the wound, it still leaked and trickled down the side of her knee and dribbled on to the floor. Her finger traced the trail and she bought it up to her eye line and rubbed it with her thumb._

_Third time’s the charm is what they say isn’t it. She let out a quiet mumbled laugh then curled her bottom lip over the top. Tears threatened but never fell._

_This is where Nate found her when he came home. She’d sat there for an hour until the wound on her knee crusted over._

_“Molly?” There was a frown across Nate’s lips as he looked at his wife’s face from across the kitchen bench. He dumped his bag and joined her on the floor._

_Molly turned her face to his. “We should just get some dogs or something.”_

_Nate gave a nervous laugh and grabbed her hand. “Let’s take a break. You and I, we’ll be fine, just the two of us.”_

_“I know.” She rubbed her nose. “I’m worried, Nate. I don’t feel anything. Like I’m not happy, that’s a given. But-- I’m not sad either. I feel if I pricked my skin with a needle-- or--” She picked at the scab now forming at her knee. “You know, when you feel too much, it's easy to get upset easy to cry, but this is beyond that, like scar tissue forming over scar tissue. I don’t know. I must sound crazy, but I know this isn’t a good thing. If the world collapsed tomorrow as the papers say-- I don’t think I’d care.”_

_“Molly, you’ve been through a lot, and I feel like, well, I can’t help feel partly responsible for that.” He looked down and squeezed her hand._

_She shook her head and ran a hand across her brow. “I’ve wanted this as much as you. They keep telling us nothing’s wrong, then this happens. Three times now. Three. I don’t think I can’t take this anymore.”_

_“You don’t have to. Like I said, you and me? We’re just fine.” He shifted closer to her and Molly laid her head on his shoulder. “And when were old and grey and holidaying on that great trek to South America we always talked about and we look down over the valley of wherever we are, it won’t matter because we’ll be in each other’s arms.” He leant down and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s just be Molly and Nate for a while. Forget all this baby business. Go out on the town, go on vacation. And if that doesn’t work then we can-- speak to someone.”_

_“A vacation?” Molly perked up at the suggestion and looked up at him. It had been a long time since they were just ‘Molly and Nate’ and an even longer time since they took time away from their busy lives. “Really?”_

_“Yeah, why not? I hear the beaches down in Bermuda are nice. They have nice cocktails, midnight dinners on the beach. Warm sand, relaxing.”_

_She smiled and for a moment, forgot what had led to her sitting here on the kitchen floor. What had led to her favourite teapot now sitting in pieces in the trash can. “I’ve been meaning to catch up on some reading. Might be good to get away, stop thinking for a bit, and escape our domestic tyrannies.”_

_“That’s the spirit.” He placed his hand on her chin and bought her face up for a kiss._

_Molly felt her heart thump in her chest, she’d-- they’d wanted this for so long. She knew it would sit with her and play on her mind. She wasn’t quite ready to give up, but for now she needed time away, time to think, time to be Molly again, even if it was just for a little while._

_Day Six_

Molly’s mouth was agape as she stood to the side. “Are-- are they really Gorillas though?”

“What do you think?” Doctor Holdren asked.

She shook her head. She’d seen gorillas in the zoo many times never this close, she couldn’t tell if they were real or not some super animatronic like at a fun park. “They-- they look-- amazing.”

“Have you been to the Robotics section yet?” He waved his hand in the direction of the door.

She took a deep breath, she knew that’s where they created new synths. “I uh-- no. I haven’t as yet.” The truth was she couldn’t face the idea. On one hand she was fascinated and wanted to see the process. Yet another part of her felt the revulsion of the very idea that these synths existed solely to replace real people.

Holdren walked Molly into the hydroponics area of Biosciences. “And this over here is where we have all our food production. Everything you need for a life underground without the need for worrying about radiation.”

Molly nodded. She’d seen and tasted the food on offer in the cafeteria. It was for the most part delicious and the vegetables so fresh, but then she’d started to grow accustomed to the ingenious methods of Wasteland cooks. Razorgrain bread flavoured with dried mutfruit, radstag stew, and noodles. Crispy squirrel bits were also something she’d found a taste for, her early revulsion replaced with the realisation this would be her diet for the rest of her life and it would pay to find out what was on offer. However, she still couldn’t bring herself to eat anything made with bloat fly or their disgusting larvae.

“Without this all here,” Holdren said. “We’d all starve to death.”

Molly shook her head. “Well, ah, no you wouldn’t, Dr Holdren. There is food on the surface that is quite edible. Even ways of removing the radiation to make it safe.”

Holdren stared at her and gave her a smile, the kind that didn’t meet his eyes. “Ah well, yes of course. But I doubt the surface has the kind of life saving pharmaceuticals that we can produce here.”

It was Molly’s turn to give a fake smile. Knowing what she did about Duncan’s disease, about the FEV experimentation and Virgil’s infection. “You might be quite right, but you can’t cure everything. We’re human—most of us are anyway, and we all have to die some time.”

“The medical care here in the Institute is second to none. Not that it would be difficult given what’s above ground.”

“The people above ground could certainly use those developments,” she replied. All this supposed development that the Institute had been involved with in over two hundred years and yet the people above ground were no better off. Molly felt a sense of frustration, that if the Institute really wanted to help, creating fear amongst settlers and suspicion of those they were supposedly helping, would not be the way.

Dr Holdren looked around nervously. “Is there any more you wish to see?” he asked.

Molly shook her head. “No, I uh have seen all of Biosciences now.”

Before Molly stepped through the door, Holdren laid a hand on her arm. “Father has been—a great leader to us, I hope you understand that.”

She gave him a tired smile and left the labs.

_Day Nineteen_

Molly bought the shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. It didn’t smell of her, it didn’t smell of MacCready, it was a fresh smell, some sort of light scent and vaguely antiseptic. She placed it, a bag full of clean underwear and several t-shirts in MacCready’s size inside the already overstuffed pack. She looked at her General’s coat, spread on the bed. It looked tired, but the dirt removed and she could see the worn threads at the folds of the lapel and the collar more clearly. Probably the first time it’s had been cleaned in-- she laughed. “A long time, Molly.”

A knock at the door interrupted her packing and she opened it to find Shaun--Father and young synth Shaun at the threshold.

Molly’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t spoken with the synth child since she first arrived.

“Hello, Mother. May we come in?” Father had a wide smile across his face.

She flinched at the name. She still wasn’t used to the idea of a man who -- in her eyes-- was the same age as her own father, calling her by that name.

“Yes, of course.” She motioned for them to enter.

“Hello,” synth Shaun said. “I was hoping you would come see me before you left. Father said you were leaving today.”

She looked to Father then to Shaun. “Yes, that’s right. I have some things I have to do.”

“I wanted to say I was sorry. About how I acted when you first arrived. But, I was scared,” Shaun said.

Molly’s hand went to her mouth and she felt her face crumble at his confession. “It’s okay, sweetie. I know you were scared.”

“Shaun, why don’t you go back to the lab, and I’ll meet you there.” He patted the boy's shoulder.

“Very well, Father.” He turned to Molly. “It was nice to meet you-- again. Perhaps when you come back we can talk some more. Father tells me you’re a General.” He held his hand out for Molly to take.

She gave a quiet stuttered laugh and shook his small hand. It was warm and soft. She bit her lip and watched as he left the room before turning to Father. “I thought you said he was ‘disappointing’.”

“It appears we were wrong. Not so much a glitch, but an unforeseeable reaction-- high level emotion. We weren’t quite expecting that.”

“Perhaps there is a lot about the synths you create that are ‘unforeseeable’.”

Father bowed his head and gave a quiet chuckle. “I see you’re not quite convinced of our motives.”

“I’ve seen everything here, your facilities and advanced systems, your ‘synth retention bureau’ your biosciences. I’m convinced your science is beyond question, impressive, but--”

“Ahh, but.”

Molly could see the shimmer of disappointment wash over his face-- it was just as if it were Nate standing before her and it made her stomach flutter. “These-- human synths, I just can’t believe you think of them nothing more than slaves. That they are less than sapient.”

“Don’t let their outward appearance fool you, they are not sapient. Sapient beings don’t have recall codes.” His voice was curt and cold.

“If they aren’t then why do so many run? Is that ‘unforeseeable’ emotions too?” She looked up to him shaking her head, defiant in her gaze. This was the last thing she expected to be doing, arguing with her son about what was happening here, about what she could see as an outsider and yet he couldn’t. Maybe he was right, that she hadn’t seen enough to really be convinced about them or their motives, but she couldn’t pretend she was happy about it.

He pursed his lips and then folded the bottom lip over the top. Molly looked away and squeezed her eyes shut, everything about him reminded her of Nate.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. I know you have offered to help some of our scientists; perhaps a trip back to the surface will make you reconsider the Institute and what we do here.”

Molly stepped over to her the desk and picked up her journal, flicking through the well-worn pages. She knelt and placed it carefully in the front of the pack before fastening the buckles before she spoke without looking at him. “I used to be a scientist. Not a very good one, but I know that your hypotheses on the synths is weak, you can build them, but you can’t predict what they’ll do. I’ve seen enough here to know this.” She stood and stared into his eyes.

He made to say something, but instead paused and ignored the comment. “I’m glad you’re going to help, and that you’re going to return here. I’ll say my goodbyes for now. Safe journeys, Mother.”

Molly watched him leaving the room without returning the farewell. Her lip quivered. “Hush little baby--” she whispered then placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

~~  
Molly woke to find the bed empty and MacCready gone. A sudden ache hit her stomach, she’d only just returned and then asked him to leave, this would be the feeling she would wake with for how long? She pulled herself out of bed still weary but there was a lot to do today and part of that would be Nate’s burial. There was one more thing she had planned, the last time she would do this.

She pulled on her underwear and some clothes, a simple checked shirt and khaki pants, clothes she picked out for when she worked around the settlements. She opened a drawer to pull out a small pouch and her journal, both carefully placed there only the day before.

This would be her last entry.

_Dearest Nate,_

_Hello my darling. I want to let you know that my time with you will always be part of my heart. That the years we spent together will never be forgotten. I had hoped to share those memories with our son, but it was not to be. I’ve told you already what has happened, how the last vestiges of our family have been ripped from under me, from under us._

_This next part I must do without you, as much as I want you to be here holding my hand, I’m glad you were never here to witness this. Or that you never have to witness the hard decisions I have to make about our family, some of which you may even disagree._

_Today I will bury you. Today I will move forward, like I know you would have told me to do long ago. With you I leave you my journal which you know is full of letters meant for you. I also leave you our wedding rings. Yours I once felt burned into my finger, like there would be no way to remove it, a thread to my soul keeping it firmly tied in place. Now I can finally release you, and in a way, release me. Thank you for being my confidante, my safe place for all manner of feelings on this Wasteland._

_I ask only that if we meet again that you treat me kindly. I love you, and always will._

_Your Molly xx_

Molly gave a long exhalation as she closed the journal on her lap. Her hand fell across the beaten outside of brown leather, split and cracked at the spine, the pages further yellowed and stained than when she first found it those first few days after leaving the cryo chamber.

MacCready entered the room and leaned over to kiss her. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

She looked up at him, he was in many ways so different to Nate. On appearances they couldn’t be any more a contrast. Nate was tall and well muscled, like a lot of soldiers, MacCready, was average in height and although muscled-- had a hard wiry and sinewy frame. Nate had dark hair and the darkest brown eyes, MacCready’s eyes were pools of blue and his hair dirty blonde. Personality wise they were very similar, easy with a joke or a pun, on the surface maybe a bit standoffish, but ultimately when you got to know them, kind and caring. She always knew Nate had some trust issues, and MacCready was the same, the thing that differed was the direction from which it came. Nate’s was a weary suspicion based on everything he’d seen, MacCready’s from everything he’d experienced. Her relationship with Nate was a steady build up of fun and frivolity, picnics and movies, MacCready’s was bonding over shared loss, of trial and error, whiskey tainted kisses and a belief that things could always be better. She came to love both men with a passion.

She gave him a warm smile. “Good morning, Mac.”

“Mac, hey?”

She remembered his face when they began sleeping together, he had constantly called her ‘Gould’ -- and she in retaliation had called him ‘Robert’. He had frowned and when she objected to her last name being used in this way he declared it a fair point. “Well it feels strange to continue calling you MacCready. And well, you don’t like Robert.”

He stroked her cheek. “I like Robert just fine.”

She was sure there had been a scowl on his face back in Sunshine Tidings the first time she called him that name, but that time was tainted with other emotions, she could have easily have been wrong. “Really? I thought—“

“Nobody has called me that for a long time. Mostly it was RJ, or just MacCready. You can call me anything you want. It won’t matter because it comes from your lips.”

Molly ran her eyes over his form and tilted her head. “Mmmm, I think Mac is best. I like Mac. I like the way it rolls off my tongue.”

“I’ll be honest and say anything rolling over your tongue is fine by me.” He sat down next to her.

“You’re too smooth sometimes,” she said and patted his cheek.

He looked down at the journal in her other hand. “That reminds me. I have something for you.”

“Really?”

He stood and went to his pack sitting in the corner and came back to sit beside her again. “Here.”

Molly took the item wrapped in dark blue cloth. Inside, a new blank journal. It appeared to be hand made with a maroon suede cover and leather binder. Inside she could see that it was likely a post-war creation given how new the pages looked. She gazed up at him with cloudy eyes.

“Last time we were together I thought you’d maybe had that one a long time, that you might be close to filling it. I was thinking when you came back from the Institute, that you might—that you might have Shaun with you and want to start anew, so—“

Molly placed both the old and new journals on the nightstand and threw her arms around him. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “I love you, you know.”

He snorted a laugh. “I kinda got the idea for how many times you told me last night.”

“Thank you. A perfectly timed gift.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Timing is everything.”

“Yes, yes it is.” She grabbed her older journal and laid her hand on it. “I’m going to put this in Nate’s coffin.”

“Oh? Can I ask why? You don’t have to tell me, of course. If you don’t want to.” He had a playful questioning tone in his voice.

“No, it’s okay.” She thumbed the pages. “I found this the first week I came out of the vault, actually I found it in the vault.” She rubbed her chin contemplatively. “I spent my first couple of weeks sleeping there, too scared to sleep anywhere else.” She bit her lip and sighed. “I wrote letters to Nate in it. It was a way of coping, you know. With everything. It’s full of messages to him, letters. I’ve just written my last letter to him.”

“Thoughts and stuff, on everything here, everything you’ve gone through?”

“I haven’t written in it much lately. Because, well, I have a new confidante.” She rubbed his arm. “And I get to be one in return.”

She watched as MacCready swallowed hard and she understood that he was holding back an emotion.

He leaned forward, held her face in his hands, and gave her another kiss, longer and softer than the previous one. “Karma has been good to me.”

MacCready let go of her face and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you packed?”

He sighed. “Yes. I’ll head down to Goodneighbor in the next day or so, not that I want to leave so soon after you’ve come back. Daisy might be able to hook me up with a caravan headed south. One that might need some protection. I’ll try and earn a few extra caps on the way, the settlement probably needs it.”

“I’m sorry to send you off so soon, but if I delay--“

“I know.” He turned to her and grabbed her hands. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Molly. Write to me? Instead of your journal.”

“Yes, yes of course.” She sighed and looked down.

“What is it? I’m your new confidante remember?”

She laughed and turned her head back to him. “However long you are gone, take whatever time you need and--” She gave a deep sigh. “If you don’t return. If you need to stay. I’ll understand, completely.”

His brow furrowed. “General Molly Gould,” he said and tilted his head downwards to give her a piercing gaze. “When you went in that machine I thought there might be a chance that you would never return. And you thought that too, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, that did cross my mind.”

“The difference here is I know I can return. And I also know—what’s that saying—come hell or high water, I will return here, and return to you.” He brought her in close for a hug then looked down at her face. “I might have another much smaller soldier with me—if the General approves.”

“You would bring Duncan back?” She thought that Duncan might be too ill, and a rush of feelings overwhelmed her, that they might end up some sort of _family_ made her emit a small gasp. It was her turn to swallow hard and hold back her emotions.

He nodded. “What, you think I’d go all the way there and not bring him back with me?” his eyes were wide and bright and a smirk gracing his lips.

“Oh no I--” she said and ran a finger under her eyes to suppress the tears. “I wasn’t sure—that he might not be well enough yet.” She gave a muffled laugh. “There might be some induction needed but I’d consider his recruitment a formality.”

“I’ll try and not be more than a few months. It's a long way, at least a month there, and who knows - maybe as long as six weeks to travel back.” He took her hand in his. “But, the conditions of the road and how the settlement is faring will make the decision for me. I want to repay all the kindness they’ve shown both me and Duncan, I need to spend a while there. It could be as long as six months, but minimum three or four.”

“That feels like a lifetime.” She hoped all this business with The Institute would be concluded before he returned, six months without him would be a long time indeed. “What will you do when you're there?”

“As out of character for me as it sounds, I want to follow in your footsteps. I don't know what that will mean exactly, not until I get there. And the road back, you’re right, there’s Duncan’s health; that will determine whether he’s up for travelling. I don’t want to leave there without him.”

She laid her head back on his shoulder. “If you can’t return--”

“Hell or high water remember,” he replied.

“I’ll miss you.” Molly could see out the window from the corner of her eye, the settlers of Sanctuary filing up the road and heading towards to the main house.

“I’ll miss you too, that goes without saying. But the sooner I go, the sooner I can return.” He stood and held out his hand. “Are you ready, Molly?”

She puffed her cheeks and blew a hard breath. “As much as I’ll ever be.” She held the journal tight in her hand and the pouch with their wedding rings felt heavy in her pocket.

Molly took MacCready’s hand and they walked out of their home to the new settlement cemetery to bury Nate Gould, and with him, the past.


	4. Grief is the price paid for love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready prepares for a trip back to the Capital Wasteland and revisit the past just as Molly prepares to leave hers behind.

MacCready knew he had the perfect spot, just above the settlement and overlooking the river. On watch the previous night, he’d ruminated on what Molly had told him she intended to do with Nate’s body after finally coming to terms with his death. That this would be leaving the past behind. He never had a chance to bury Lucy. He’d tried to retrieve her body after the shock of what happened abated, but when he returned, there were no ghouls, and no body. All that remained were bloodstains deep and darkest red on the floorboards, as if she’d disintegrated. He had cried, loud sobbing cries, into the hollow empty rooms, into the daylight streaming in through the roof of the building, into the void and the lonely road ahead.

Yes, he knew the exact spot. He’d passed it several times when hunting and his first thought had always been that Lucy would have liked it. He rose well before dawn, snuck a kiss on the line of freckles on Molly’s shoulder, and as she murmured sleepily in response, he slipped out into the morning darkness. He traipsed up the hill behind Sanctuary with a small shovel, two small rose bushes and some candles.

In the partial darkness that was morning civil twilight, he took a while to choose and maneuver the rocks into place, to make sure that the small cairn he created wouldn’t topple easily. He dug holes on either side and planted the roses. On the biggest rock, he placed the candles.

He knelt and lit the simple white candles, looked over the small monument he created, and over the river below.

“Well, Luce, this is it. Do you like it?” He released a brittle laugh and sat down to watch the sunrise as the first glimmers of dawn crept and shimmered their way across the water below.

He folded his arms across his knees. “I’m going back to the homestead-- to collect Duncan, bring him here to our new home. If he’s well enough to travel.” He patted his knees with a flat palm. “I was gonna tell you, but I guess it slipped my mind. I don’t keep a diary and if I did, I’d probably not use it. So I’m just telling you straight up, I’ve fallen in love with someone.” He bit his lip. “You’d like her, she’s nice. More than nice.” He reached out and ran a thumb across a rose petal. “Her name is Molly, and like you did before, she saved me.”

The sun burst over the horizon and he stood. “This is beautiful, Luce. It really is. When I come back, I’ll bring Duncan here, and tell him all about you, that’s a promise.”

The sun glinted on the rock and MacCready laid a hand on the tip of his cap. He turned to head back to the settlement. As he walked down the hill he could see the figures of Preston, Sturges and two other settlers bringing Nate’s coffin down across the river and up towards the cemetery. He followed quietly behind them before heading back inside the house.

_The memorial was small; the settlers had gathered in the small meeting room that had recently been set up for them to discuss the Homestead’s affairs. When platitudes were done and MacCready had said a few words, all gathered to shake his hand solemnly as they left the room. Several patted Duncan’s head. He hadn’t known what to say, these people were virtual strangers to him. They knew Lucy better, but still it was an odd feeling. He’d like to tell them how much he loved her, how much her and Duncan had made him a better person. But he swallowed that. He wanted that for himself, the only part of her that was left._

_MacCready and Duncan walked back to the small dwelling that their family had shared. It still had Lucy’s touch: curtains that she’d sewn across the dingy window, a vase she had bought on their wedding day in Diamond City, and a poster of a cat, framed and hung on the wall. It had been on the wall of her room in Megaton. He knew that cat well. Duncan turned to him as they entered. “Papa, where’s Mama?”_

_He sniffed, shut the door behind him and sat down. He patted his knee for the boy to sit. “Come up here.”_

_Duncan jumped up on his knee. How do you explain to a small child the death of a parent? He had little memory of his own parents, he knew nothing of his father, his mother though-- he recalled a soft cooing voice, deep blue eyes and the touch of her hand across his face. These were fleeting though and something he rarely thought about. When the idea that a person will no longer be around is not something they can grasp, not something they can easily understand at this tender age. It was something he knew from Little Lamplight, the older kids knew, the younger only knew that something had happened but never really understood until they were older. Now, when his own grief threatened to overtake him, he needed to tell his son that his mother was dead._

_The answer was easier than he first thought. He spoke plainly and didn’t hide it behind complicated words or meanings. He kept it simple, bodily functions-- practical things. He could understand that you ate and pooped, that when you ran fast you breathed heavier, and when you laughed too much your stomach hurt. “Your Mama stopped breathing, Duncan. If you can’t breathe, you can’t be around anymore. Mama loves-- loved you, but she won’t be coming back.”_

_Duncan looked up at him, eyes large and brown, like Lucy’s. “Who will give me a bath then?”_

_He gave Duncan a sad smile. “Hey, I can do that for you.”_

_“Mama says you miss.”_

_MacCready’s brow furrowed. “Miss what?”_

_“The dirty bits.”_

_He chortled and put a hand to his mouth. “Well, I need to work on that then, won’t I? I promise to try harder.”_

_Duncan nodded. “Okay. Can I play?”_

_“Sure, go on.” Duncan slipped off his knee. He knew he’d be fielding questions on Lucy’s whereabouts for a while, until Duncan understood. Then would come the hard part, reminding his son who his mother was when the memory of her would still be painful._

_He sat, poured himself a whiskey, and watched Duncan play until it was time for dinner. They ate, although he wasn’t hungry. Stephi had bought them food for the next day and Duncan ate everything put in front of him, shovelling great wads of it into his mouth so much he had to remind the small boy to chew. When he was done, Duncan yawned into his plate._

_“C’mon, lil’ guy. I think it might be time for bed.”_

_“But I’m not tired, Papa.” Duncan’s eyes were heavy lidded._

_“Why don’t you put your pjs on and I’ll come sit with you and read you a story.”_

_Duncan hopped off the chair and ran into the small bedroom. MacCready cleared the plates off the table and rummaged through the bookshelf. Tonight it would be Grognak. He’d change the details to make it age appropriate- if Lucy were here she’d hand him something else- but tonight he needed the comfort of Grognak as much as his son. How many hours had he poured over the magazines? He lost count. The ones he had he knew cover to cover, read over and over when he was sick, or the time he almost died in a rockfall. That one in particular-- Lucy had bought him and he had kept that one in as good a condition as he could, until it fell apart._

_Duncan sat in the bed with the covers around him, and MacCready loosened his shirt collar and removed his boots, sitting on top of the covers with his feet up. Duncan snuggled in under his arm._

_“Once upon a time there was a brave warrior, named Grognak, and he--” He stopped and choked back a sob._

_Duncan’s voice was quiet and confused. “Papa? Why are you crying? Is it because Mama’s not coming back?”_

_He swallowed and sniffed and wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. “Yes.” He leaned down and kissed Duncan on the top of his head. He turned the page of the comic in his hand._

_“Papa.”_

_“Yes, Duncan?”_

_“We’re gonna be ah-oh-fucking-kay.”_

_He let out a chortle and wiped his face wet with tears. Being a single parent meant there would be a few things he’d need to work on._

MacCready held Molly’s hand tight. He could see from the stiffness in her posture, her neck and shoulders held tight showed that she was nervous. They walked over to Sanctuary’s newly prepared cemetery at a slow, measured, almost reluctant pace.

Preston approached and spoke in a low voice. “Molly, do you want to-- view Nate before we put the nails in his coffin?”

“Yes I do.” She walked in ahead of Preston and gestured for MacCready to follow.

“You sure?” he replied. He wasn’t sure whether she might want to say her last goodbyes alone, he knew if the roles were reversed he would want her hand, her shoulder, her comfort, but people grieve in different ways.

“Very.”

The coffin was on the ground next to a newly dug grave and Sturges and Preston lifted the lid for Molly. MacCready stood back and bowed his head as she knelt down.

He was no stranger to burials, or funerals for that matter, but it had been a long time since it was someone he cared about -- or in this instance affected someone he cared about as much as he did Molly. He could hear a gentle sniff and lifted his head to see her run her hands over Nate’s body, still perfectly preserved thanks to the cyro chamber. Molly placed the journal on his chest and folded one arm across it then took his right hand and placed the pouch with the wedding rings in his palm before folding his fingers to hold it in a loose grip. She kissed the back of his hand and placed it gently across the other holding the journal. After remaining there for a while, she stood and nodded to Sturges to place the lid back on as she wiped tears from her eyes.

The settlers filed in behind MacCready and Molly turned to face the group.

“Thank you all for coming.” She shuffled from one leg to another. “None of you knew Nate, but I was married to him for eleven years, and I knew him for several years before that. What can I say about my husband that would make sense to you all?” She looked down and away. “He was the very best of men. Kind, compassionate, strong. And he loved me, and loved our son,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

MacCready felt a lump form in his throat, he’d almost forgotten the feeling of losing someone so close. His world fell apart when Lucy died, and if it wasn’t for Molly he’d still be deep mourning, not just for Lucy, but for Duncan most likely too. How long had it been for him? A lifetime by his recollection.

Molly folded her hands over each other, a habit he’d noticed when she was nervous, and he could see her eyes starting to form more tears. “If Nate--” she coughed loudly and ran a hand over her top lip. “If Nate were here instead of me, he would have done something similar for you all. For the Minutemen, for the Commonwealth. I’m sure of it.”

MacCready wondered if Nate would have helped him, if he was the person Molly said he was, then yes, it could have happened that way. He was glad it didn’t, but it could just as easily been Molly’s funeral he’d be witnessing.

“Thank you everyone, again, it means a lot to me, that this place you call home, that I still call home, is where Nate will rest.” She turned toward the grave and Preston and Sturges along with two of the other settlers lowered the coffin.

MacCready stepped up next to her and she leaned into him as he put his arm around her.

_”Shit, what will we do RJ, now that Red and Jules and Dani are gone?” Eclair asked._

_MacCready looked down at the animal lying limp and lifeless on the ground. “Well, we should bury him, I guess. What else are we supposed to do, dumbass?” He knelt and ran a hand over Bowser’s snout._

_Behind him, Angela and Squirrel were crying and Knock Knock was trying to comfort them both._

_“Yeah I guess,” Eclair replied._

_“You guess?” MacCready shook his head and muttered under his breath. Since Dani left, the place had been a disaster with everyone confused about what to do. Without a Mayor these shitheads were all over the place. “Get the fucking shovels, we’ll head out and dig him a hole. Nick, go get Joseph, he can say a few words when we come back.”_

_He turned to the crying Squirrel and Angela. “Seriously? You didn’t cry when Rex died, why are you crying now?”_

_Squirrel let out a sob. “Rex was an asshole.”_

_Several more people had arrived and Lucy had come with a stretcher and with Bumble. “Here, RJ, we can put him on this.”_

_“Okay, who wants to come out for burial duty?” MacCready asked. Half a dozen put up their hand. “Okay, we can have the memorial back here when we’re done. Squirrel, stop blubbering. You can carry my rifle.”_

_Squirrel’s eyes lit up as he took the rifle. MacCready, along with Nick, lifted Bowser on to the stretcher._

_They headed out and down the hill. The cemetery for Little Lamplight was no more than a small field with around fifty or so grave markers. The history of death for this small town underground. The pet cemetery was in the far corner._

_Between four of them, MacCready, Eclair, Sticky and Nick they took in turns to dig. Angela and Squirrel stood back and watched._

_When all was done, they headed back to Little Lamplight where Joseph was gathered with most of the residents._

_They stood as Joseph talked about Bowser, what a good dog he was, a faithful dog, how he never bit anyone. The dog had been the favourite amongst Little Lamplight, and for a while he had followed MacCready around. But he had other business to attend to and the dog soon found others to give him pets and love._

_“Not like Rex,” Squirrel said._

_“Shut the fuck up, Squirrel,” MacCready replied._

_When Joseph finished, Angela piped up. “While we’re all here, I thought it prudent to take it on board that we need a new leader. Now with Dani gone, this has got to happen, we can’t go on like this.”_

_There was a muttering from the group. “Well that’s all well and good, Angela, but who?” Lucy asked._

_“I propose me,” she replied._

_“You? I don’t know about that Angela. I mean--” Joseph added._

_“Why not me, Joseph? Huh? Anyone else prepared to stick their neck out? Mmmm?”  
The room was quiet._

_“I guess, I mean no one else wants to put their hand up for the job,” Joseph said and looked pointedly to MacCready._

_MacCready shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want the job of mayor, but Angela was the worst choice given who else was here. Joseph, Nick, or Lucy would make better a mayor than her, even Janey would be a better fit, but she was turning sixteen in a month. He wasn’t sure any of them would want to take on another role. And fucked if he could either._

_“I guess we need someone. And Angela, you have my vote!” Nick said._

_Several others started talking at once, nods and affirmations towards her and to Joseph._

_“Well, if everyone is in unison about the choice and no one else wants to come forward. Congratulations, Angela. You’re our new mayor.” Joseph said._

_“Thank you, everyone.” Angela curtsied and several people milled around her to shake her hand._

_MacCready stood back and watched as Joseph sidled next to him. “This could all be a huge disaster, RJ.”_

_“We gotta see how it plays out, I guess. Shitheads here could do worse. It could be Zip.”_

_Joseph snorted a laugh before both of them turned to leave._

_“Not so fast everyone.” Angela’s voice was loud and clear above the group. “As you’re all here and as my first official act as mayor, I am making a declaration.”_

_“This should be good,” Joseph said as he nudged MacCready in the side._

_Angela found a box and dragged it over to the group and stood on top. “The office of ‘mayor’ is no longer that. It’s a royal role fit for royalty.”_

_MacCready folded his arms in front of him, shook his head and sighed._

_“I’m changing the title of ‘mayor’ to ‘princess’ as is befitting of my status and royal beauty.”_

_There was silence from the group. Most had mouths agape until Bumble, the youngest, currently holding a teddy bear in one hand and Lucy’s hand in the other spoke. “But, you can’t do that.”_

_“Oh but I can,” Angela replied. “Princess Angela, or just ‘Your Highness’ will suffice.”_

_MacCready felt the heat rise to his face. His irritation heightened by the immediate expectation that the others would-- should bow down to her when they had far greater concerns than a change of title. That she would dare take the role on even though he could see she wasn’t suited in the first place was bad enough. She was vain, selfish and spent too much time on the scav team looking for things for herself, the collective good was not on her agenda at all and it, her first act was enough to anger him._

_“No, Bumble’s right. You can’t do that.” MacCready’s voice was tinged with fury and the crease in his brow was deeply furrowed._

_Angela folded her hands in front of her. “Yes I can RJ.” She looked around the group. “Who’s gonna stop me?”_

_MacCready dropped his rifle and stepped up to the box. “Obviously none of these shitheads are. You need to think about the group, what we need, that comes first.”_

_Angela leaned down only inches from MacCready’s face. “I know what we need. Face it, RJ, I’m the best for the job. The prettiest, the smartest, the most--” She never got further than those words before MacCready’s fist met with the middle of her face._

_There was a gasp from the group as Angela reeled back and fell off the box and immediately started crying. Lucy, who’d been standing at the back ran forward and leaned down to help her up. She looked towards MacCready and shook her head angrily. “RJ, what the hell?”_

_“Look here, shitheads.” He turned his attentions to the rest of the group. “You need a leader not a fucking princess. You need someone who can tell you what needs to be done, not have you cater to their every whim. You need someone to make hard fucking decisions and not be scared about it. You need someone who can make sure none of those Mungos--” He pointed towards the gate. “Get in here. Because fuck, you know they are gonna try.”_

_“But, RJ--” Lucy said as she laid a hand on Angela’s back to stop the girl crying._

_“No ‘buts,’ Luce. Are you gonna do that?”_

_Lucy sighed and shook her head._

_“Or you Joseph, that means precious time away from your books.”_

_“No RJ,” Joseph had a smirk plastered across his face._

_“And what about you, Nick? Gonna hand over that shitty little place you call a shop to someone else?”_

_Nick shook his head as well. “No, RJ.”_

_“So, none of you shitheads are gonna give it a go, so that leaves this shithead. AKA me. Anyone else interested in this job?” He looked around him but no one spoke. “Then it’s unanimous, well aside from you, Princess.” He looked down towards Angela who had stopped crying and was rubbing her nose._

_“You’re the best person for the job,” Bumble’s small voice travelled above the quiet crowd._

_“Thank you, Bumble, for your vote of confidence. Anyone else?” He hoped he could live up to his word, that others put so much faith in him made his chest swell. Some of them knew the terror of the outside, and he hated Mungos more than most here, so they knew he’d keep his promise._

_A murmur went around the group and people saying ‘yes’ and nodding._

_“Good, it’s done. I’m your new fucking Mayor, and I fucking promise I’ll do all those things and not let you down. I’m in charge, now get back to life, shitheads.” He made to head back to his position at the front gate but first, he turned to Angela. “My first duty as mayor, ‘Princess,’ is to send you to the back gate, far away from everyone, especially me.”_

MacCready spoke with one of the merchants who’d come up from Croup manor, the caravaner was to head to Goodneighbor, where he’d heard several other caravans were headed to the Capital Wasteland, if they could get protection for the trip. It meant he’d have to head out later today, but it left the afternoon to spend with Molly.

He found himself following her to a farm on the other side of the river and the other side of the vault, unsurprisingly, to play packhorse. Molly wanted to pick some herbal roots to compliment all the flowers he had picked and dried for her while she was at the Institute. He thought it odd, that she’d want to go back to work straight away, given this morning, but then he realised it was a ruse, to escape the constant noise of hammering and general business around the settlement. The fact that she had asked him along, held his hand, stopped to kiss him, meant that it was his company she sought over anyone else's. 

After barely an hour of gathering the herbs and roots, a heavy rainstorm came without warning. Molly pointed to the barn at the edge of the farm, saying they’d likely find some shelter there.

He’d passed by it a few times during his hunting trips but never went in. “So you know this place?”

“We used to come here to pick strawberries.” She nodded and pointed towards the other side of the field and a gate. “Over there and down the hill is the strawberry field.”

“Strawberries? What are they again, some sort of fruit?” He had a vague memory of the fruit, but he couldn’t bring it to mind.

“The most delicious fruit when picked at just the right time. Bright red, a little bigger than a cap - although I’ve seen larger fruit. And so, so sweet.” She closed her eyes and smile rose on her face.

MacCready grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for a kiss, droplets of water fell from her nose on to his face. “So like you, red and sweet, do they have freckles?”

She laughed and the feeling it gave him made him giddy. “Yes, they do actually, tiny little seeds on the outside.” Her hand ran around his neck, and her fingers danced at his hairline.

They separated and looked around. The barn was largely empty and collapsed on one side but there was enough protection to give shelter from the rain and a few boxes sat in one corner. They went hand in hand and moved towards the boxes to sit down, Molly opened her pack as he lay his rifle down and sat next to her.

She brought out a container of water and passed it to him. “I meant what I said-- before.”

He took a swig. “What was that?”

“That if you couldn’t come back, if something prevented you from returning, it would be okay.”

He shook his head. He knew her concerns were for him and Duncan, that it was important for her to have them reunited. But he also understood she was trying to protect herself from further loss, telling herself it would be okay. But she wasn’t fooling anyone, he’d reassure her again and have to be satisfied that she would be able to work through it without him. “Molly, we’ve been over this, I’ll come back.”

She stood and paced, her hands folded over one another. “You don’t know that, Mac. Who knows what the roads are like, what Duncan’s state of health is, you don’t know what’s happening there that might stop you from returning.”

He patted his lap, not sure how he could make this easy for her. “Sit,” he said in a firm tone.

Molly stopped pacing and sat down on his lap, arms around his neck.

He put his arm around her and bought her in tight against him. “You’re right, I don’t know what the state of things are any more than I knew it was going to rain this afternoon after the sunshine this morning. I’ll clarify that promise for you because I want you to know that if all the planets are aligned there is nothing that’s gonna stop me returning here. Because well, I can’t give up the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She gave a nervous giggle. “Do you always know exactly what to say?”

He could see the tension ease across her shoulders and her hands rested calmly on his chest. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at that stuff, aren’t I?”

She kissed him, her lips soft and sweet. He could taste mutfruit.

He pulled away, a concerned look on his face as he ran his hand in circles at the small of her back. “How do you feel, about today?” He wanted to know she was alright, that the funeral had not sent her completely into despair; he couldn’t bare the idea of her being miserable in her grief and leaving her to her own emotions and without support.

She played with his beard and bit her lip. “I remembered all the good things today. That’s one positive. Times before the war when we were a family, doing things like-- well, like picking strawberries, having picnics, drinking a glass of wine under a tree with the sun overhead.”

“We can do that.” He looked out through the barn door at the rain, slowly dwindling in intensity. “Obviously not today.”

She leaned in and pecked his lips several times. “We could, yes. That would be nice. I could wear a skirt instead of these daggy old flannels and jeans. Maybe paint my nails and wear open toed shoes. I’d be like a princess.”

He laughed, knowing that the last princess he knew was nothing like her. He pictured her dancing barefoot in green grass, the kind of green he’d seen only in pictures. Her skirt whirling around her as she turned, a shoestring top revealing the freckles on her shoulder, and a flash of creamy thigh as she turned to face him. She’d be laughing and he’d be lying on the blanket, unable to take his eyes off her. He’d beckon her to join him and kiss her, soft, then firmly, and she would hum a laugh into his mouth as his hands crept up her thigh.

He felt a smug smile grow across his face, that she would do that for him, and only him. “I think I would like that.”

The rain abated but there were still dark clouds in the sky, so they hurried hand in hand back over the hill and to the house. When inside they shed their rain soaked clothes and made love, hurried and frenzied at first then languid and slow as though not wanting it to end. They lay in each other’s arms as his hands danced across her skin, wanting to remember the silken feeling against his palms, for he knew all he would have for a while would be a memory. They kissed and made love for a third time and until the sun was about to set.

Molly escorted him to the Sanctuary Bridge and they held hands again and entwined their fingers with one another, neither wanting to be the first to let go. It was only the caravaner who’d reached the other side of the bridge and tapped his foot impatiently that spurned him to move. His heart felt bigger than a heavy rain cloud. He kissed her one last time.

“I love you, Molly.” There were tears in her eyes, and he felt the sting behind his own.

When he looked back as he crossed the bridge she waved to him, and the sight of her was as beautiful as the earlier view he’d had of the morning sun.


	5. No time for tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready's left for the Capital leaving Molly at Sanctuary to figure out her next few moves regarding the Institute and questioning her loyalty to the Railroad. While waiting for news of MacCready's safe arrival at his homestead Molly joins Nick in order to fulfil a promise. Preston delivers some news that could see trouble ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates, been a busy month. Thanks once again to Thievinghippo for the beta.

Molly remembered the quiet moments. The first time she fell for him, the first time her heart skipped a beat when she heard his voice from behind, the first time he brought her in close for a much-needed hug. Soft kisses in the first morning light are in her mind when she penned the first letter to him.

_Dearest Mac,_  
_I know it’s been barely three days since you left, and I know you probably won’t get this letter until you reach your homestead, but I wanted to write now before what I’m thinking gets lost in the haze of everything I’m planning. First, I’m sorry I made you leave so soon, especially after the reconciliation we had before coming to Sanctuary. Part of it was motivated by selfish needs. One, that I am crazy in love with you. Second, that I knew if I didn’t send you away soon I would change my mind and not let you go before all this business with the Institute is sorted. I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do that to Duncan. You are doing what I can’t, being there for your son. As crazy in love with you as I am, I know it may have felt as if I pushed you away, and I hope you won’t hold it against me. It’s been three days and I’ve desired your touch more than ever, that in itself tells me I did the right thing.  
Love Molly xxx_

It was early morning and the ground was damp as Molly trudged from the house to the workshop. It’s now been almost six weeks since MacCready left and she tried to keep herself busy and to keep thoughts of his absence at bay. In her own mind, when all her tasks were done for the day, there was still an element of sadness to his departure. His side of the bed was always cold and for someone who had as much fat on him as a starved rabbit he radiated heat like a human furnace. With the onset of autumn, she felt the cold empty space more than ever.

Molly’s took it upon herself to write to MacCready weekly, knowing that it was likely he’d only just be receiving her letters - _if_ they made it all the way there. Since he’d been gone, he’d written four, but she’d received only three from him, according to his numbering system, one having already gone missing. The others she kept by her bedside. She didn’t have to read them, just seeing his chicken scratch writing was enough to make her smile. She recalled the content of the letters, and like the morning sun on her back, she felt warmth spread through her.

Sturges was at the workshop, ready and waiting as always. There were over twenty-five settlers now and Sanctuary had its first family - The Costas, with two small school-aged children in tow. There was still a lot of work to do, both here and at other settlements, but the settlers had all pitched in and the place had transformed. She thought about what Sanctuary once was to her, and what it is now, its pristine suburban exterior replaced with rust and dirt and the withering of age. She would be melancholy if it weren’t for the settlers here, breathing life into what was destroyed.

There were always plans for more buildings at Sanctuary, and Molly never thought it would grow so fast. Perhaps the things that she found attractive, the quiet cul-de-sac, the paths that etched there way along the river, the wide open outlook and as a place for her and Nate to settle, were still attractive - even two hundred years later. They had started building a new community hall and there was need for a med clinic. Now Molly was about to broach the topic of a schoolhouse. In addition to that, one of the new settlers, a caravaner by the name of ‘Smiling Larry’, cornered her twice on the topic of setting up a trade hall to work with all the new trade lines between settlements. She’d agreed it was a good idea and told him to talk with Sturges about the topic.

She blew on her hands not quite warmed as of yet. “Morning, Sturges. What’s on the list today?”

“Mornin’ Molly. The Community hall is ready for the windows we constructed last week.” He pointed to the stack of constructed frames and the glass panels carefully laid out nearby.

“So some heavy lifting is in order, then?” She pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves from the workshop bench.

Sturges tilted his head. “General, we got it, you don’t have to help. I’m sure you have a lot of other stuff on your plate. You’ve worked like a dog here the last month or so and done more than enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, I might be stepping over the mark here, but it kinda looks like you might be avoiding somethin’.”

Molly gave a subdued laugh. “You think so?”

“Mhmm,” he replied.

She dug a heel into the ground. Sturges was right, of course, she’d agreed to do some work for the Institute but there was never been a timeline or any urgency. They had not asked anything complex of her, talk to their synthetics on the ground, the coursers and the synths planted in her very settlements. However, the mere fact that synths walked amongst the settlers had put her ill at ease. The reasons, according to the Institute, varied, but knowing people were spying on you, that they replaced actual people with families and loved ones didn’t sit right with Molly. This feeling extended to the Railroad’s activities and what they too, were planning. Deacon had told her they had a plan to bring the Brotherhood of Steel’s airship down. However, going against the Brotherhood had not been what she agreed to, and to destroy it felt like it was against the interests of the Minutemen. She had been meaning to corner Preston, to talk with him about the Railroad’s plans, and what he thought they should be do about the Institute. 

The Minutemen was where her loyalties really lay and she felt that now more than ever. “Yes, I have tasks that need to be done. Are you sure you’ll--”

“Whatever you gotta do, go do it. It’ll be here waiting for your final touches when you come back. Those little luxuries always put a smile on people’s faces.”

Molly ran her hand across her brow and smiled. Those ‘little luxuries’, the same ones that had caused discord between her and MacCready were now being lauded. At the time she wasn’t really sure it was helping, the doubt in her mind all but bought to the surface by MacCready’s words, but all she really had wanted was to make sure the settlers were happy. “Sure.” She walked slowly back to the house and into the bedroom, brought out her General’s coat and armor, laid the outfit on the bed and ran a hand over its seams and the collar of the jacket. It was time to do the other list, tasks that would mean she was working for the Institute, visiting synths out on duty - several living in her settlements. There were spies in other settlements and she wondered if they had spies here in Sanctuary, but it’s not if you could go and just ask anyone. Preston had gone to the Castle so there wasn’t much she could do here in Sanctuary. She dressed, checked her weapons and ammo then began the walk to Diamond city. Even though she was waiting to hear if MacCready had made it to the Capital, Molly had a promise to keep, and this time, she travelled alone, and she wasn’t frightened.

_It was after seven pm on a Friday when Molly walked through the door of their Sanctuary Hills home. Two weeks had passed since Molly and Nate returned from their holiday and she had thrown herself back into work._

_The house was lit up and warm. It appeared Nate had turned the thermostat up. Not surprising, the warmth of a Bermuda sunsets were easier to accustom themselves to when compared with a Boston Autumn. The smell of garlic and onions wafted across from the kitchen to the front door. Molly removed her jacket and placed it on the coat rack._

_“Nate?” she called and kicked off her heels before stepping towards the kitchen._

_“Molly, you’re home.” Nate’s head appeared from the hall. He pulled her into his arms and greeted her with a kiss._

_Her eyebrows lifted in surprise she held her arms tight to her body. “What’s all this? I thought we were having pizza?”_

_Nate walked toward the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He popped the cork and poured a liberal amount into each glass before offering one to her over the kitchen bench. “What? Can’t a husband come home early and make his hardworking wife a nice meal?”_

_Molly took a sip, the tannin of the ruby colored liquid hit the back of her tongue with a surprising sharpness. She glared at him. “Nathaniel Gould,” she said in a stern tone and tilted her head._

_Nate sighed. “I can’t hide anything from you can I?”_

_She laughed and took another sip. “Nope, but I can guess as to what’s happening here.” She walked around to the other side of the bench and stood close to him. “When are you leaving and for how long?”_

_“Tuesday. And maybe two months, three even.”_

_She sighed. “That long? Apart from our holiday you’ve not been around much of late”_

_He nodded. “True, I know, so, on that note I have some news.”_

_“Oh? About what?”_

_Nate held his glass up and swirled the wine in circles. “I’ve given my resignation, Molly.”_

_Molly’s mouth opened in surprise. “What?” They had discussed it six months ago, but it hadn’t been a topic of conversation for a while now, both had been focussing on the attempt to have a baby._

_“Honorable discharge. When I finish this last job, I’m coming home. For good. And I have every intention of not leaving again.” He leaned down and kissed along Molly’s jaw line._

_“But--“_

_He drained his glass. “No buts. I get a job here, no more travelling. No more being away from you when you need me most.”_

_“Are you sure Nate? Is this what you want?” Molly knew that Nate loved his job, that he would be willing to sacrifice that to be near her made her stomach flutter, just like it had the first few months that they had dated._

_He took the glass from Molly’s hand and placed it on the bench, drawing her in for another embrace. “Never surer. It’s been on my mind for a while. I’m sorry I never discussed it with you more in depth, but I think the holiday sealed the idea in my mind.” He kissed her, soft and deep before breaking. “You’re okay about it?”_

_Molly smiled and tears sprung to her eyes and she nodded. “Yes, yes.”_

_“I can find other work. And with the world going to shit, I want to be here. With you.”_

_“Is it really that bad? When you’re around, here, it doesn’t feel that way.” Molly’s hands reached up to caress the back of Nate’s neck. “I love you, you know.”_

_“I know.” He kissed her again, longer and firmer this time and she felt the tip of his tongue caress hers before he pulled back. “I guess this gets me out of trouble for going away on Tuesday?”_

_She smiled. “I’ve got you for the weekend haven’t I?”_

_“How about I turn the thermostat to boiling, mix up some margaritas and you put on that bikini you bought and just walk around the house like we never left Bermuda?”_

_Molly giggled and bought her lips close to his. “Well soldier, let’s make it a furlough to remember then.”_

Molly arrived in Diamond City at nightfall and went straight to Nick’s Detective Agency. She found both him and Ellie bent over filing cabinets.

Her laugh, highly amused at the scene before her, radiated around the room.

They both looked up, Ellie’s brow furrowed and what countered for Nick’s brow rose. “Hiya Molly, what’s so funny?”

“Well, Nick really. I never thought you were one for paperwork, or filing, or anything.”

Ellie grabbed the folder from Nick’s metal hand. “He’s not, Molly. That’s supposed to going in this cabinet, Nick.”

Nick shrugged. “You alone? Don’t tell me you came here all alone? I don’t believe it.” he teased.

Molly let out a burst of laughter. “Yes I did, and not a single incident was had.”

“Well that’s good. What can I do for you, General?”

“Are you ready?” She held up Eddie Winter’s case file notes. She’d been studying them the last few weeks.

He nodded. “Definitely. But maybe in the morning - I’ve got the first location already clocked up here.” He pointed and tapped his hand on his forehead.

“Yes, I guess. Probably better to leave in the morning than travel anywhere at night.” That would mean spending the night alone at Homeplate, she hadn’t factored in much time there at all, in and out was all. Homeplate had been her sanctuary away from Sanctuary, but with MacCready gone, the quiet of Homeplate felt more emptiness than Sanctuary. She needed company and she knew Piper had gone to the Taffington Boathouse to talk with some of the settlers there who’s been dealing with Covenant, otherwise she would have gone for a few drinks with her.

“All right then, I’ll swing by Homeplate at seven thirty.” Nick looked at her and tilted his head. “Do you want some company?”

She gave a sad laugh. “Do I look like I need it?”

“I’ll come sit at the Dugout with you if you like.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that, Nick.”

He followed her out the door and they headed towards the Dugout Inn. Inside the bar was more crowded than she’d ever seen it before. Laughter in all corners of the room. There was a strong smell of cooked food, steak of some kind and of course mixed in with the usual aroma of alcohol and tobacco.

At the bar, Vadim was his usual ebullient self. “Ahh, General Molly! Nice to see you here! Too long too long! And Nick! Welcome, what can I get you, Molly? Something to drink, something to eat?”

Molly slid onto a bar stool and Nick sat in the one next to her. “Actually, do you have squirrel on a stick? And maybe just a water thanks, Vadim. Not sure I can stomach anything stronger.”

Vadim nodded and motioned for Scarlett.

Nick turned to Molly. “Not feeling good?”

“Ah it’s nothing, I maybe just caught something or ate something that disagreed with me. I’m still kinda hungry, though. Probably just coming down with something.” Molly still had the Eddie Winter folder in her hand. “So where do we start, Nick?”

Nick paused before answering and gave her a skeptical glance before digging into the pocket of his trenchcoat. “I picked this up at Malden Center.” Nick placed a holotape on the bar. “This is where we start.”

She nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” The squirrel on a stick arrived, but Molly could barely eat all of it. 

Nick nodded and told her he’d be there early before departing and Molly left for her Diamond City home, alone.

Once inside she turned on the lights. After not being here in weeks there was a musty smell to the place and it needed airing. When she walked past the workshop there was a waft of stale cigarettes and gun oil. She removed her shoes, coat and armor, took a clipboard, some paper and a pen from her desk, and headed up stairs to the loft bedroom. The bed was softer than she remembered and she landed with a bounce before leaning her back against the headboard.

Last time she was here, last time she stayed, she and Mac had made love on this very bed. She smiled and brought the pen close to the paper.

_(Number 6)_  
_Dearest Mac,  
It seems I’ve found myself back in Diamond City and back at Homeplate. Here without you feels rather lonely, as you were the only one to ever really share this ‘settlement’ with me. Tomorrow, Nick and I are heading out to hunt down an old foe of his, a gangster from before the war. He apparently has prolonged his life, but given few people seem to have heard or dealt with him, I can imagine the kind of life he is living would be much. After this is all done, I’ll head down to Warwick homestead. Apparently Roger Warwick is a synth, I should have cottoned on to the fact the moment his children said that he was a lot nicer than he used to be. Heaven knows when he was replaced. I can’t fathom why they do this, these are people’s lives, not toys. Anyway, I’m not writing to you to complain, just to say how much I miss you and look forward to hearing from you. I’ll try and keep up with the weekly letters although I’ve already fallen behind. Keep sending your letters to Sanctuary Hills, you won’t believe the changes there in the short time you’ve been away. I love you and miss you._

_Your Molly_  
Xx  


Molly folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. She hoped it would reach him. She hoped his letters would reach her. She kissed the back of the envelope and placed it on the drawer beside the bed. Her head hit the pillow and she fell asleep before she managed to undress.

_Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry after she left the Doctor’s office, only a short distance down the road from her Sanctuary Hills home. She usually associated the sanitized smell with disappointment, pain, and emotions she was sure she had glossed over. Now though, it had a different effect. Instead of a cloud over her head, she departed the surgery with a feeling of mild euphoria._

_Since Nate had left, she had begun feeling poorly, a familiar sensation of tiredness and churning in the pit of her stomach she knew well. So, once again suspecting she might be pregnant, she’d made an appointment with her local doctor._

_The pregnancy was the result of one too many pina coladas, one too many nights dirty dancing, and for a couple supposedly avoiding pregnancy, a few broken condoms after bouts of enthusiastic lovemaking. The holiday itself had been wonderful. For the first time in over a year Molly had felt like herself again; she danced and ate and drank what she liked. She and Nate had laughed a lot, made love a lot, and she felt the sunny islands carefree atmosphere wash over her. Perhaps it was a little too carefree, and now here she was pregnant and Nate gone for the next few months. However, despite the ‘accident’ to have him gone was the only thing about this recent news that made her unhappy._

_She walked the short distance home and whistled. When she reached the Sanctuary Hills’ bridge she looked around. There was noone to be seen so she skipped her way across. One the other side of the bridge she smoothed her skirt, and walked the rest of the way home, a large smile across her face._

_Inside the house the familiar quiet greeted her. She boiled the kettle, made a fresh pot of tea, sat down on the couch with a magazine, and placed her feet up. She would write to Nate later, tell him the news, tell him not to get his hopes up, given what had happened before. However, she knew that would be difficult, he was usually as elated as she was, and the losses had hit him just as hard as her. Molly tried to hold herself in check, and even though her elation outweighed her fear, what happened before had worn that down a degree. If she could gather all the good luck charms in the house she’d put them in an envelope and send it with the letter._

_She closed her eyes and let the fragrant tea slide down her throat. Everything about this felt different from before. She couldn’t put a finger on it exactly, but it invaded her senses like a warm blanket wrapped around her on a cold day._

Molly woke with a start. She had a collection of dreams, vivid yet incoherent. Nate, and Shaun as a baby. MacCready and Piper taking her somewhere she didn’t recognize. Sitting in the shower cubicle of the Institute. Fragments that didn’t gel together-- bits of her life from before the war and after in some sort of hodgepodge montage. She felt dizzy when she rose and had to hold on to the drawers to steady herself.

She walked slowly downstairs, the letter to MacCready she held tight in her hand. When she looked at the clock on the wall it had just struck seven. She laid the letter on the dining table and scrounged the cupboards looking for anything remotely edible, but there wasn’t anything fresh she could find. The thought of cram or pork and beans this early in the morning made her gag. She opened the last cupboard to find a supply of fancy lad snack cakes before laughing aloud and shaking her head. There was only one person who could have put those there. She would eat one, in honor of his ridiculous sweet tooth.

The small hotplate that Nick had fixed for her was there and still working, so she grabbed some fresh water, and filled the small kettle. Next time she’d remember to bring some fresh food or bring enough caps to pay the exorbitant prices asked of the vendors here in Diamond City.

Nick came to the door promptly at seven-thirty, he was never late. Molly thought that internal clock of his never lagged. She turned the key in the lock when they were outside, once again saying goodbye to Diamond City before they headed to the first police station on Nick’s list.

Molly was silent until they were out of the city. Her feet trod heavily on the cracked asphalt of the road. “This has been a long time coming, Nick.”

“You could say that, Molly.”

They continued at a slow, steady pace. “How’d you do it, how did you stop it from consuming you?”

“It’s not vengeance. You know, you’ve been through the same thing. Justice in the wrong hands, of course, can easily turn that way.” He looked down and examined his hands as he walked. Molly thought she could almost read his thoughts. That his hands-- not just a giveaway to who he was but the foundation of who he _was now_.

They reached Police Precinct Eight. Both were expecting trouble as Central Boston had a number of super mutant compounds but were surprised to find only mutant corpses.

Nick kicked at one and a pile of maggots spilled onto the rubble it lay on. “Ugh, looks like they’ve been dead a few days at least.”

Molly looked at the maggots that spilled on to the ground and felt her mouth go dry. “Thankfully.”

They retrieved the holotape and she hoped that they would all be as easy as that, and she hoped that there weren’t too many more dead mutants filled with maggots.

_Dearest Nate,  
I know I should have written as soon as I got the news but I wanted to wait a few weeks, to make sure -- that I would have good news. And now I have, so I can’t wait any longer I want you to come home with a smile on your face. So here it is. I’m pregnant again. Almost fifteen weeks according to the scans. This is the longest we’ve made it, and for once, I have a good feeling about all this, about us, about the future. I know it will be at least another month before you return, I’ll be a little bit bigger by then! Life goes on as usual. Work doesn’t know as yet, but I’ve told my parents, I’ve held off on telling yours because I know you want to be here for that, I’m dying to see the look on your mother’s face, she’ll be so happy I’m sure we’ll have to restrain her from running down to the church. I’m well otherwise, still feeling queasy, still a little tired, but early nights and lots of soothing peppermint tea seem to be working well. There’s not much more to say really, aside from I’m looking forward to your return, my love._

_Molly  
Xx_

Nick and Molly had one more holotape to pick up, one more piece of the puzzle to find Eddie Winter. It was clear he had gone ghoul, that he was still alive, and in the Commonwealth-- somewhere. Nick appeared to be spending more time checking his systems, which she could only take as his quiet time, to be alone. She understood, but thought they should take a break as they’d been traipsing around for almost a month without stopping. They’d been to nine police stations and visited several settlements in between-- including dealing with a resurgence of bloodbugs at Taffington Boathouse. Piper had been there and was still collecting her information on the synths at Convenent. When she suggested they head back to Sanctuary Hills his eyes closed for a tad longer than usual, she watched his shoulders slump and a slow smile build in relief.

She also hoped when they reached Sanctuary this afternoon there would be several letters from MacCready waiting for her. They had left before she knew he’d made it safely back to the homestead and the fact she still didn’t know had played at the back of her mind. Seeing the red rocket put a smile on her face.

When they walked up over the bridge, several settlers were there fixing rails and boards. Over the rise, work on the bathhouse had begun and excitement began to rumble in her stomach. Settlers Hall was almost finished too, she could hardly believe the progress made on the building since she left. Sturges and Jun were standing outside when she approached.

“Wow. This is amazing,” she said.

Sturges turned to greet her, then stood back and looked up at the building. “Molly, Jun and I were just talking about when you might reappear. This place is almost ready for some final touches.”

“It appears that way.” Molly looked up at the building feeling a measure of pride that this place-- her home -- was coming together.

“I think Preston might have some letters for you. He’s patrolling the new ramparts at the other end of the settlement.”

Molly’s heart leapt out of her chest at the mention of letters. That was exactly the news she wanted to hear. She and Nick walked past her home and she went straight to the workshop to unload. She left Nick reluctantly talking to Mama Murphy and walked over near the cemetery to find Preston. Construction on a perimeter stone wall had begun at this end of the settlement and Preston stood on one of the newly constructed ramparts as she approached. He turned and waved.

He walked quickly over to her. “General, glad to see you again.”

She nodded. “Preston, you’ve got some letters for me.”

“Yes, I do come with me.” He motioned for her to follow back to the small office they were using for Minutemen business. Preston opened the drawer to her desk and handed her the four letters. One of them was opened. “That one,” He pointed to the opened one, “was also addressed to me. I hope you don’t mind that I opened it, it came about five days ago.”

Molly took a deep breath and felt her mouth go dry. She couldn’t think why MacCready would be writing to both of them, but it had both ‘General and Preston’ and ‘Urgent’ scrawled across the front. 

She furrowed her brow and opened it. It wasn’t numbered but had a date, three weeks prior.

_“Dear General and Preston,  
Since arriving at my homestead, the settlers here tell me they’ve had some issues with nearby raiders and Talon mercenaries fighting with Gunners who’ve come down from the Commonwealth. They’ve been in some cross fire between the three and the Brotherhood of Steel. I’m writing to ask for some assistance. Some of the settlers expressed interest in joining the Minuteman and there is at least one other settlement nearby that has been affected and refugees from there have ended up here. They want to protect themselves and other settlers but lack the knowledge to organize themselves into a coherent group. Would you be able to send some Minuteman this way? Perhaps two or three to help them out for a while? There really is only so much me to spread around, even though I’m the best thing they’ve got at the moment.”_

_Yours  
RJ MacCready. _

Molly felt the muscles in her neck strain as she spoke. “Oh hell, that’s-- can we spare anyone, Preston?”

“General, already on it. Things here are going well, all the settlements appear to be self-sufficient for the most part, and I spoke with a few of the Minutemen - four of them have left already for the Capital and MacCready’s homestead. I hope I didn’t step on your toes by organizing that.”

She took a deep breath, she felt light headed, and sat down. “No, not at all Preston, thank you, I think that’s all we can do for now.” Molly would send an army to help MacCready if she could.

“Well, the more people who are part of the Minutemen the better. The Capital _and_ the Commonwealth. We might end up with a provisional government if we keep this up.”

She gave a relieved laugh and turned her focus to him. “We might at that, Preston.” Molly laid a hand on Preston’s arm. “Preston, you would make a good General, just so you know.” 

Preston scoffed and dismissed the comment with a sharp laugh. “Maybe. Anyway, good to see you back and safe, General.” He departed with a simple tap of his hat and she was left to read the remaining letters.

Molly turned the letters over in her hand, he had made it, safe-- for now, and inside one of them-- a drawing, of him and Duncan-- wearing MacCready’s hat. Tears sprang to her eyes and she gave a small relieved smile. But the smile didn’t last. She felt her gut churn and the queasy feeling that had dogged her for weeks returned.


	6. Road to the Capital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready begins his journey back to the Capital Wasteland and to his old Homestead. New friends, old friends and a reunion with his son reminding him of what’s important in the hell that is the Wasteland.

It was late in the night and the ground was damp when MacCready looked for a dry spot to sit around the open fire. He laid his gun by his side, pulled his scarf higher and sat down cross-legged barely a yard away from the open flame. Markus, the carvaner, and Jewel, the other guard were asleep in their traveler's sleeping bags under a veranda of an old shop front. He stared into the flames trying hard not to think about where he'd rather be-- in a warm bed nestled beside a warm, soft, and freckled body. Not even the open road and a loaded weapon by his side could give him the comfort that she did.

He stretched and reached back for his pack laying nearby and pulled out some paper and a pencil.

_(Number 1)_  
_Dearest Molly,_  
_It's been ten days since we left Goodneighbor and we're well on the way back to the Capital Wasteland. I think we'll make good time considering the pace we've managed so far. I spoke with Daisy about finding a job as a caravan guard through her connections. The guy-- Markus-- a surly, few words kind of guy, is eager to get to Rivet city as soon as he can so we're travelling at a hell of a pace. The other guard – a ghoul named Jewel (yeah that's right 'Jewel the ghoul') is on her way to Underworld--a city run by ghouls-- I heard about the place when I was younger but I never got to see it. Jewel is at least a head taller than me and built like an assaultron so I haven't tried to be a smart mouth (yet). I can imagine you laughing at that-- me trying to resist opening my mouth, but without you around you know that isn't gonna happen. We've been passing a good number of other caravans headed to Diamond City and Goodneighbor so I thought maybe I'd pen a few short letters. Not much else to say other than it's getting colder. I can't say I like it much and without you here--well, I miss you and I love you and I hope the others have your back or there will be hell to pay when I return (I'm sure Valentine would laugh at that). I'll try to write weekly – and just hope that they reach you – I'll number them just so you'll know if you miss any._  
_Love Mac xx_

He folded the letter up and pulled out an envelope, then tucked the top inside so as to seal it best he could.

"Glue would be good for that," a gravelly voice said.

He looked up to see that the voice came from under the veranda. "Maybe even this." Jewel sat up in her bedroll, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. She fished into her bag and threw MacCready a small tube of glue.

MacCready caught it with a single hand. "Thanks."

"So what's her name?" Jewel asked as she stepped out of her sleeping bag and stretched.

MacCready looked over at her and inhaled before laying the cigarette next to him. "How do you know it's a her?"

Jewel huffed out a laugh. "Because Daisy and Hancock told me."

MacCready furrowed his brow and stared at her. "No secrets between ghouls then?"

Jewel snorted a laugh. "Yeah well, you think I'd travel with just anyone? I've met enough shit stirrers like you to know that being on the open road with someone--untrustworthy-- isn't something I relish."

MacCready huffed out his own laugh. In the last ten days Jewel had said little to him. He knew she was measuring him up, looking over him, listening when he spoke but never saying anything herself. It was always a matter of when rather than if she'd speak to him. "What they say about me then?"

She sauntered towards the fire. "That you like caps. And caps are always a supreme motivator. Made you reliable. That you had a mouth on you. That you were one lucky SOB."

"Lucky, how so?" He could say his luck was all because one one source, but he wasn’t sure how much other people knew about it.

"Stumbling into the right person, at the right time. That she hired your services, then some, and she helped you with some problems. Said you had a nice, cozy bed in one of those Minutemen settlements up north."

"Well you know everything about me then it seems," he said and picked up his still alight cigarette.

"Not quite. I mean why are you here taking a job like this when you got it good where you are back in the Commonwealth?"

MacCready dragged a thumb across his bottom lip, not sure how much to say; he didn't know this woman from a blade of irradiated grass. "What's taking you to the Capital?"

A smirk danced across Jewel's face as she sat down on the opposite side of the fire. "I'm headed to Underworld."

"Yeah, I already knew that. But why?"

"Some family business."

He threw his finished cigarette into the fire. "Then we have something in common then, that's what I'm doing too," MacCready replied. Even though he wasn’t much about disclosing his personal circumstances he was slowly warming to Jewel, she gave off an air of comfort he hadn’t expected.

They watched the fire. Jewel poked it with a stick then added a log. "My watch then," she said.

"Yeah," he said. He stood and walked to the veranda, unfurled his bedroll and tucked himself in. As always he'd be sleeping with one eye open.

_Lucy's brow furrowed in confusion. "RJ, why are we going this way?"_

_MacCready's answer was abrupt he wanted to get to Diamond City as quickly as he could, for as much as he felt comfortable on the road, having Duncan and Lucy with him he felt doubly wary. "Short cut, Luce."_

_Duncan was swaddled tight against her chest and a gurgle of toddler sounds could be heard coming from beneath cloth. "Really now? By how much?" Lucy didn’t sound convinced it would make much of a dent at all._

_"A good three days at least. And if we're gonna make this trip to Diamond City on the regular--" he said and ran a hand over Duncan's head. "Best we get there quick. Also if you keep insisting on coming, too, and bringing Duncan don't you think it's best?"_

_"But we don't know this road? Is it safe?"_

_"I've come this way a couple of times now and had no problems. A day can make a difference. And I scouted several places we can stay."_

_"Well, if you think this is the best way, then it's the best way," she said with a smile. "He's gettin' heavy now, wanna swap for a bit?"_

_MacCready nodded. "We can stay here for a while," he said, pointing to a suburban metro station. "I've been in here and I know it's safe."_

_"Good idea," Lucy replied._

MacCready stood in front of the old suburban metro station , his face twisted with recognition. He knew they'd pass it eventually and here they were. He and Lucy stayed here so many times on their way to Diamond City and for the most part it had been safe, for the three of them. Until it wasn't. He'd avoided this route ever since. He'd returned once to this place, looking for anything, for a sign she was here, that she was alive, that it was all a horrible dream, but there was nothing and no one, only a stain on the floor. He remembered roaring, and the sound competing with the howling wind coming through from a hole on the second floor. He remembered that night, he remembered, and he would never forget.

Dusk created long shadows on the road and Markus came up and stood next to him as he continued to stare at the station in front of him. "I guess we'll stay here for the night," Markus said.

MacCready turned to him, for a Wastelander, Markus didn't look much like it. He was well fed, with a plump clean face. His hands were mostly clean and soft looking. Caravaning had treated him well. "What?"

"Stay here for the night, looks a good a place as any."

Markus made to move forward to the steps of the building but MacCready put his hand out, a flat palm against the man's chest to stop him. He shook his head. "We're not staying here."

The caravaner furrowed his brow. "And why the fuck not? Looks perfectly fine to me."

MacCready felt his nostrils flare and he stared at Markus. "Because we are fu-- we are not staying here."

Markus rubbed his chin. "Like I said it looks perfectly fine to me. What's your problem, MacCready? Besides I am fucking paying you to make it safe." He turned his head to look at Jewel who stood nearby.

"What's wrong with this place?" Jewel asked, her tone soft but questioning.

MacCready turned around to face her a curl of anger hit his lips and he pointed to the building. "We are not staying here."

Jewel tilted her head to one side and stared at him. MacCready felt himself bouncing in his shoes and he rolled his shoulders. He felt ready for a fight, that he was even still standing here was a miracle. His stomach churned at the thought he'd have to go inside.

Jewel continued to stare at him and addressed the caravaner without looking at him. "Markus, we're not staying here." She broke her gaze from MacCready, lifted her pack on to her back and looked around. She pointed down the road and into the distance. "That looks okay," she said.

"Jewel, what the fuck? It's getting dark, and I'm fucking tired. What the hell?" Markus’s irritation was followed by the man huffing and placing his hands on his hips like a spoiled child.

Jewel grabbed Markus by the shoulder. "It's not gonna hurt your fat ass to walk another mile. It's not safe here," she said and nodded to MacCready.

"Fucking damn, shit, fuck," Markus replied and slapped his Brahmin on the behind as he began to walk in the direction Jewel had suggested. "C'mon baby, just another fucking mile." He looked towards MacCready. "Better be no further than a fucking mile."

True to her word there was another series of houses. One of them appeared to be recently vacated by Raiders. When Jewel and MacCready scoured inside MacCready could see there was only one exit and entrance. There were several beds and on the porch of the home was a brazier, full of unburnt wood and cold to the touch.

Markus shook his head. "Raiders."

"If there are, Markus, we'll be ready." She chuckled and brought out another cigarette. "There's a nice big bed inside, one that can support your immense backside."

"Very fucking funny," he replied.

"I was a comedian, once," she chuckled again as the Markus muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

After the brazier was set up and after they'd eaten and Markus retired for the evening, MacCready and Jewel pulled up some chairs on the porch and sat back to chain smoke. MacCready blew the smoke into the air and put his feet up on the railing. "Thanks for that."

Jewel sniffed, "For what?"

MacCready felt his jaw tighten, even just thinking about the station and the fact it was only up the road set his teeth on edge; he couldn't afford to be grinding them in his sleep. "Suggesting we move down the road."

Jewel took a long drag on her cigarette. "No problem. But, you know. I know that look."

He ran a thumb over his lip and turned to look at her. "Look? What look?" He'd try to deny giving anything away but he knew the level of anger he showed told a different story.

She gave him a sad smile. "Loss. That look."

He snorted a laugh, if wouldn’t be the first time his emotions had given him away. "Always thought I had a poker face."

"I'm two hundred and nine years old, MacCready. You wear a scowl most of the time, but that look, I know that look pretty well. Seen it in the mirror plenty times. Not that I look in the mirror much these days, hrmph."

"Two hundred and nine, hey?"

"Yeah."

"How long you been ah--" he said, scratching the back of his head.

"A ghoul? Just come out and say it MacCready, not a dirty word. Not unless you're Brotherhood, of course."

"Yeah well, I'm not, so you're lucky there."

She sniffed and picked up a cup and a bottle of water. "Been a ghoul since about twenty-one forty. I was sixty three when it happened."

"You from out this way?" he asked. 

"Nah, born on a farm out west. Not far from Bakersfield. Not really the safest of places for ghouls or smoothskin alike."

"You-- still have family there?"

"Yeah I do.” She took a large gulp from the cup before continuing. “The person you lost in that house-- parent, sibling, spouse?"

MacCready cast his eyes down. "My wife."

"Ah, okay, that's tough.” She shifted awkwardly in her seat. “And the family thing?"

"My son, been staying in a settlement just north of Big Town not far from the border, I'm going to pick him up bring him back to the Commonwealth, and hopefully, a better life. You?" He wouldn't share that sort of information readily with a stranger, but it felt good to say that aloud, to have someone else know, like a weight off his shoulders.

"My son is getting married," she said, shaking her head. "What a fool."

MacCready leaned back in his chair an apologetic look crossing his face. "I take it he's a ghoul as well?"

"Yeah. Of course. The idiot's been married seventeen times. This will be his first ghoul."

"So a ghoulfriend then?" MacCready snorted at his own joke his attempt failing at raising a laugh.

Jewel pursed her lips. "That's a lame joke and one I haven't heard like thousand times." She coughed and cleared her throat. “I've been married five times, twice before I was a ghoul and three times after. Each time my spouse died of natural causes. Death do us part and all that. But my fucking son--"

"He's the only ghoul in the family other than you I take?"

"I had five kids with my two husbands before I became a ghoul. I have five stepkids, one with with my husband Ron, one with my wife Rhonda and three with Susy. My son Malcolm became a ghoul when I did, musta drunk the same kool aid. My two step daughters were already ghouls when I met my wife Susy. Sarah -- Susy's eldest is the reason Mal and I came out east, I promised Susy when she died I’d watch after her girls. She was married to a trader, came out this way twenty years ago.” Jewel stopped and bit her lip. “Got word she'd gone feral, Mal and I-- we couldn't let that happen. You know, family."

He nodded. "Did you find her?"

Jewel shook her head. "Nah, she disappeared. She's either dead already or we just didn't look hard enough."

"So you're here and working as a guard and going to your idiot son's seventeenth wedding."

Jewel looked up and sighed. "Well, fuck me, I think this is number eighteen actually, I forgot about the one in Reno."

MacCready laughed, and pulled out some whiskey from his bag. Just a drop before bed would help him sleep, forget where he was, forget what lay just down the road. He offered some to Jewel who nodded and held out her cup for MacCready to fill.

"Here's to family," he said.

"To family," Jewel replied and raised her cup to his.

_The night was crisp, the air clear, and he'd breathe it in and be thankful._

_With the wind in his face, it cleared his lungs of smoke and his gut of too much whiskey. This kind of night reminded him that there were good things in the Wasteland._

_Normally._

_Funny how a word changed the meaning of things so significantly, how it twisted things from being an event of torment and the reason that sorrow exists to one of an everyday occurrence._

_He couldn't fire a gun and protect his son at the same time and with the crying toddler in his arms, squirming and calling over and over, "Mama, mama, mama.," All he could do to calm him was run and hope that the pounding of his feet on the pavement was enough to quiet him. His heart beat like one of those old fashioned timepieces and the sound of the ghouls was a background noise to the cadence of his boots’ movement on the broken asphalt._

_The night was crisp, the air clear, and he'd breathe it in and be thankful._

_That he existed here, with Lucy and Duncan he was on top of the world, life was good, and he had love, family, and dreams of a future._

_Normally._

_On that night though, the air burned his lungs and hurt as he took deep breaths, like too many cigarettes in one sitting, and his mind whirled with fear of what happened, what might still happen._

_When he stopped running, the sound of the ghouls had subsided, as had Duncan's cries. The boy was asleep and MacCready laughed out of instinct but then gritted his teeth in frustration and swore under his breath. He would continue to curse himself, his situation, the senseless death of someone close to him, his mind would be full of disquiet throughout the rest of the night and for a long time thereafter._

_He found a space in a house, sheltered, calm, and quiet. The only noise, that of the sleeping toddler lying against him._

_The night was crisp, the air clear and he'd breathe it in and be thankful._

_How many times had he sat with Duncan against him asleep? Too many to count. The murmurs of his son reverberated against his chest, through his duster and his thick army jacket. It was often a source of comfort._

_Normally._

After twenty-three days on the road, after they passed the border, and they reached the junction where MacCready would head towards Big Town and the settlement, it was time for them to part ways. Markus and Jewel would head further south, to Rivet City and Jewel, eventually back up to Underworld and to 'the wedding of the year'.

MacCready took his caps from Markus, who said a sneering farewell. Jewel took his hand in hers.

"MacCready, I wish you well, that-- you find some sort of peace for your family. Maybe teach your son not to have such a smart ass mouth."

He chuckled. "It's been awhile since I've seen him, he's been in the care of good people, I doubt he's smart ass in any way. Good luck, Jewel, have fun at the wedding."

Jewel guffawed. "I highly doubt it, but you never know."

Jewel and Markus turned down the road and headed into the distance, and for a moment he thought he might miss their company, Jewel's at least. MacCready walked the lone path past the junction he knew would take him straight to the settlement less than five miles away. How many times had he trod this path in the past? Too many to count, he'd worn a groove on this section of the road he was sure of that. To be doing it now felt different, it wasn't as though he was coming home, it was just another path and one that he hoped when he arrived would be happier than when he was last here.

He could see the giant oak up on the road ahead, a landmark of the homestead that stood tall and proud over the entrance. However, it was now surrounded by heavily fortified junk fences, the whole homestead too. This was something that wasn't there before and he wondered why the settlement needed it. His eyes narrowed with concern as he glanced towards the guard tower and the machine turret near the gateway. When he approached, a man, whose face he didn't recognize stood on the tower and looked down at him.

He and pointed a gun in his direction. "What do you want, stranger?" the man asked.

He nodded and put his hands up. "I'm MacCready."

The man's ruddy face was covered with a bandage on one cheek and his hair was patchy. He looked less than friendly. "And I'm lah dee fucking dah."

MacCready snorted. “Are Stephi or Abdul around?”

The man narrowed his eyes and looked at him closely and a hint of recognition flashed across his face. "You’re Duncan’s father. Different coloring but I'd know the mouth." He came down from the guard tower, opened the gate and extended his hand to him. "I'm Trevor. Heard a bit about you especially now that people been expecting you. Abdul's gone down to Big Town, gonna bring Red back here. If you want to speak with Stephi-- I think she's down in the barn." He pointed to a large reddish colored building at the far end of the settlement.

MacCready's brow furrowed, he hadn't sent word that he was coming, not exactly, so he wasn't sure what was meant by the 'been expecting you' comment. He shook Trevor's hand. "You new here? Anyone else about?"

"Yeah came in almost eight month back. My kid and your kid are friends. Now that he's better. If you want to see your kid he's in the schoolhouse, Davey and Louisa are fixing the hole in the side of the meeting house, Dixie's on the southern guard tower and the rest of the town is down in the lower paddock today, razorgrain harvest this week. Look, um, sorry about the smart mouth and the gun thing, we've had a bit of trouble recently, it's got a lot of us on edge, strangers and all."

MacCready nodded. "Nah, I understand. You've had trouble? What sort of trouble?"

"You fucking name it. Raiders, Talon's all fighting with the Brotherhood. The odd ghoul wandering in and the last two weeks-- those greenskinned fuckers. No one gives a rat’s ass about the settlers here, and certainly not those Brotherhood assholes who take our crops and pay pittance and keep saying they care about making the country great again. Pretty fucking sure this country was never great. Anyway, Stephi will fill you in."

He nodded and tipped his finger to his hat. Trouble didn't sound good. "Okay thanks."

He walked through the gates and through the settlement. For the most part it was quiet. He could hear the sounds of hammers hitting wood, but they were muffled behind a large hedge. The afternoon Autumn sun had already begun to cast shadows over the central common, a small grassed area with a few park benches looked well used and an unlit brazier sat nearby. It looked vastly different from the last time he was here. There were more buildings and the walls around the main part of the settlement were fortified as heavily as they could be without being made of concrete. There were at least five new buildings including the barn -- which was in construction when he left for the Commonwealth. The barn itself had several holes on the side, perhaps from recent troubles and one door ripped off at the front, the other door with great holes in it. Several Brahmin looked like they had stepped out of their pen and were wandering and in the way of the barns entrance. He pushed past them and stepped in and over the building materials that stood by the door.

Inside the barn was dark so he couldn't quite see, but could hear someone muttering. "Stephi?" 

Stepping out from behind a stall was a small heavily pregnant blonde woman, her features only marred by a large burn scar on chin. Her brown eyes widened when she saw him. "RJ?" She walked quickly over to him and put her arms around him. "So it wasn't just a coincidence."

MacCready hugged her, he felt happy that she was still here, still safe still with Abdul. "Coincidence?"

"We received a letter for you a few days ago. Thought it was maybe a mistake but the deliverer said no it came from the Commonwealth and that you would definitely be here."

He felt a spike of adrenaline at the mention of a letter, he hadn't thought about Molly for at least a few hours. "Huh, got here faster than me."

"It was one of those new couriers, they move super quick, we get them come through here about twice a month. Here, come with me."

He followed behind her as she led him out of the barn. "You never said in any letters that you were having a baby." Unlike Lucy, who had been all skin and bones with baby out front that you couldn’t tell was pregnant from behind even towards the final days of her pregnancy, he could see that Stephi was definitely pregnant even when standing directly behind her. The only thing that gave Lucy’s pregnancy away was the waddle, something he was now witnessing in Stephi.

Stephi gave him an embarrassed laugh. "Didn't we?"

"Nope, when are you due?"

"Things have happened so fast. But, officially-- tomorrow. Abdul's gone to fetch Red, hoping something will happen in the next few days. Not that there aren't others here who can help out. I'm just nervous, it being my first and all and with all--" She hesitated. "Plenty of time."

MacCready frowned. "Yes your guard said Abdul wasn’t around."

"Ah yes you've met Trevor then. You wanna know anything speak with him he'll tell you things you don't want to hear too." Her laugh faltered. “He’s been super jumpy lately.”

They stopped in front of one of the dwellings. "He also said you were having some 'troubles'"

Stephi gave him a nervous smile. "I'm so glad your back, RJ, things over the last month have-- they've been bad. The last six months really. We didn't want to worry you while Duncan was in recovery. We've managed but, these last few weeks--" She put her hand over her mouth tears formed in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Hey, hey it's okay, just tell me what's going on, I'm here now. After all you’ve done for Duncan, I’m here to help out." He held back on telling her he didn’t plan on staying, this wasn't the time.

She brushed her tears aside. "Come inside, put your stuff down. Come-- come get a drink."

Abdul and Stephi's house looked much the same as he remembered. It had three small rooms, a living room, small storage area and pantry, and two small bedrooms as well as a small loft big enough for a single bed. It was small by Sanctuary Hills standard but still the biggest house in the homestead. MacCready could see that one of them had been set up especially for Duncan, there were comic books he recognised on the floor next to another stack of books he knew were Lucy’s, several toy cars and and his old spinning top.

Stephi turned on a small lamp lighting the cramped space. "You can stay here of course, there's a bed in the loft but maybe the guesthouse would be more suitable it's just across the way, and not so-- so crowded, we could set up beds for you and Duncan. Until things get sorted out. Although things are a bit crowded at them moment."

He laid his gun against the wall, let his pack fall to the ground and watched as she fussed through the pantry. She brought out a flat tin, opened it and and handed him the letter from inside. On the outside he could see Molly's neat handwriting on display. He felt a sudden euphoria as he touched the paper and smiled as his eyes followed the curve of the R and J in his name. He brushed a thumb over it before tucking it in his pocket to read later.

"I take by the smile on your face you know who it's from," Stephi said.

He gave an embarrassed laugh. "That obvious, hey?"

"Yeah, I haven't seen that look on you--" she gave her own embarrassed smile. "In a while."

MacCready gave a subdued laugh and they were quiet for a moment. ‘In a while’, how much had changed since he left here, since he waited alone for another shitty job in the back room of the The Third Rail, since he met the woman who had helped him turn his shitty life around.

He turned to Stephi to see her smile begin to turn to tears again. His tone turned serious. "What's been going on Stephi?"

She sighed and sat down. "I don’t want to lay this all on you-- you’ve just arrived.”

He nodded. “Hey, it’s okay, just tell me.”

“Okay then. Six months ago there was skirmishes at a nearby settlement, Basket Hill, they're about ten mile east of here. They became our sister settlement, of sorts, just after you left for the Commonwealth. We'd exchange food, tools, knowledge. Then all the troubles started, twelve settlers killed. It halved their settlement, we invited them here because that's about when our troubles started too. Strength in numbers and all that, so they came and we joined forces, we had twenty seven settlers here--" she stopped and looked down. "There was twenty seven of us. Over the last month four settlers have been killed, Junie, Patrick and Ang -- they were all from Basket Hill, and--" she swallowed hard. "Geoff as well."

“Shi--, damn, that tough old man?” MacCready remembered Geoff being one of the oldest settlers here, one of the hardest to get to know, and one of the toughest individuals he’d ever met outside of the Gunners. "How's Carol?"

"Not good. Their son Ky came up from Megaton for a while, but he had to return for work."

"How did it happen?"

"Raiders killed Junie. Crossfire between Talon's and The Brotherhood killed Patrick, Ang and Geoff. Last week two supermutants got through the gates and destroyed part of the barn and meeting hall, the tried to set fire to the houses but we managed to kill them.” She stood and went to the pantry, bringing out a small jar. “These are boiled candy, I made them myself. Careful don’t bite them I think Duncan has already lost a tooth on them,” she said and offered them to MacCready.

He nodded and took several pieces of candy. “Supermutants are terrifying, I've been fortunate not to have dealt with too many.”

“I’ve never been so frightened in my life. It's just getting worse, RJ. I can't tell you what a relief it is to have you back, we're floundering. It’s like every day something is happening, vertibirds fly over, packs of wild animals scrounging around the gates and on the farm and then three weeks ago a damn deathclaw showed up." She handed him a cup with water and he took it with a hesitant smile.

"While I'm here, I'll do what I can, okay? Maybe not single handedly fight a deathclaw but I can help out." A level of guilt washed over him as he realised how desperate the settlement was. Molly’s turn as General had improved things for her settlers, but here in the Capital things were worse than he first thought. 

She didn’t notice the unintentional reference to the length of his stay. Instead, relief washed over her face and she grabbed MacCready's hand. "Thank god you said that, RJ." She shook her head. "Oh but Duncan, he'll be excited to see you. I almost forgot. He's at the schoolhouse -- and there is someone else there that you might want to see."

"Who?"

Stephi looked at her watch. "Come see for yourself."

MacCready gave her an awkward smile as he felt his stomach flutter with nerves. "Will he even remember me, Stephi? It's been--"

"He remembers you, because we haven't let him forget." Stephi took his hand and lead him to one corner of the settlement, another new building with an enclosed playground, a guard tower and turret stood on a platform nearby. "This is our library and school house, we don't have a lot of books yet but--"

He gave her a confused look. "But?"

MacCready stood back and watched as Stephi opened the door quietly and waved. There was a scraping of chairs and a man exited on to the small porch. He doubled back in surprise. The man coming out of the building was slightly older and thinner than he remembered but it was definitely him. "Joseph?"

Joseph grinned and stepped down off the porch and bear hugged him. "RJ MacCready, damn." He stood back and looked him over. "You're all grown up now you dumb Mungo?"

MacCready guffawed. "You were a Mungo well before me."

Joseph's face softened. "It's good to see you. You look-- okay I guess."

MacCready laughed again. "I could do with a haircut, you still do those?"

"Still with the mouth hey, RJ?"

"You wouldn't know it was me otherwise. Anyway what brings you back to the Capital? I thought you were headed down south for good?"

"A girl bought me back."

"Well I can understand that, is she here with you?"

"Nah, things kinda didn't work out-- ended up in Big Town again and Red suggested I come here. Been here what?" He turned to Stephi.

"A month," Stephi said.

"Got the school house up and running and everything. Six kids here now, five of them school age, Duncan just started too." Joseph slapped him on the chest. "But you're not here to see me are you?" He walked up to the door and spoke aloud. "Schools out you can go."

A stomp of feet followed and five children came out and from what looked to him varying between five and ten, Duncan was the last to come out and MacCready felt his throat close over. He wasn't much bigger than he remembered, but he had the same big brown eyes, his hair was longer and curlier, much like Lucy's was and there was the familiar crooked smile bursting across his face.

"Papa!" he said and leapt onto MacCready. The last time he had seen Duncan he was lying in bed covered in blue boils around his neck, his breathing labored. He slept all day and barely woke to take food or water. To see his boy up and full of life-- MacCready felt a large lump in his throat as he took him into his arms.

He bought the small boy up for a hug and kissed his face in several places. "Heya buddy, how's it going?"

"I knew you'd come." Duncan's voice was excited and chirpy, unlike the last time where his eyes would flutter when his name was mentioned and his lips moved as if to speak but nothing came out. 

"Did you now?" He tried to hold back some of the tears that threatened to spill at the sound of Duncan's voice. He wiped his face self consciously and hugged him again. 

Duncan leaned in and whispered into his ear. "I heard Stephi and Abdul. Don't tell them that though I'm not supposed to eavesdrop."

He winked at Stephi. "Don't worry I won't tell." He said and put the boy back down on the ground.

"Are you staying, Papa?"

This time MacCready knelt. "Yeah I am."

Duncan folded his arms around MacCready's neck and kissed his cheek. "Good."

"I'll let you and Duncan spend some time together, RJ – I'm expecting Abdul and Red back in a few hours and I have to set up some space in our makeshift clinic for Red." Stephi said and walked back towards her residence leaving MacCready and Duncan on the porch of the schoolhouse.

"I got some stuff to do inside. Come find me for a chat later, RJ," Joseph said.

MacCready nodded as Joseph returned inside the building.

"So Papa--have you come a long way?"

"I have, yes."

"Did you bring comics?"

MacCready snorted a laugh. "Yeah I did. We can read them later."

The rest of the afternoon went quickly, they talked and laughed and played on the playground. Duncan told him many stories, most sounded like real world story's morphed in with storylines from books. He mentioned when he was sick people would read to him and he really liked that, that it made him feel better. MacCready felt the weight of guilt hit him again for his absence. It could have-- should have been him reading to his son not others and he realized then what he had missed and why Molly was so desperate for him to leave her side. That she had been right about so many things when he thought differently, it made him feel like a fool for thinking he knew better.

They talked and sat in the playground. MacCready swinging the boy on the swing or whizzing him about on his arm before laughing and falling on soft grass. He'd remembered this feeling, of weightlessness, of lightness in spirit and for at least a little longer the comfort of his family. He'd almost forgotten the letter in his pocket, but when he did, it felt like a burning reminder of why he was here, that there was a woman who loved him, who would be patiently waiting for him -- for both of them-- to return, and that they would be a family. He hadn’t recognized how much he had missed that feeling until he threw Duncan up into the air; the boys laughter filling up his heart-- and it was why he needed to get back, more than ever.


	7. Negotiations - Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly takes the initiative and reignites an old skill set. Meanwhile a visit with Carrington puts her in denial.

_The offices of Shuster and Walpole were austere in the extreme. Aside from one potted plant and one solitary minimalist painting on a white wall there was little else. Molly could hear the receptionist’s long fingernails clattering on the console keypad in front of her, only stopping their click clack sound when the phone rang._

_"Good afternoon, Shuster and Walpole, how may I direct your call?" she asked in a singsong voice._

_Molly held on to her portfolio tight; a sense of nervousness hit her gut as she looked around. A man entered from behind the partition next to where the reception desk was and walked over to her._

_He held out his hand. "Miss Martin?"_

_Molly stood, took his hand, and nodded._

_"Come this way would you? I'm Garry, Mr Walpole's personal secretary." He directed to her to the partition, then down a long hall and into a room where three people sat on the other side of a board table. They stood as she entered._

_A tall, thin, grey haired man with glasses and a severe sharp face extended his hand first. "Herbert Walpole." He needn't have introduced himself Molly knew exactly who he was."These are my colleagues, Greg Dearmont and Alexandria Knox."_

_Greg Dearmont was younger than Herbert Walpole, shorter and with slicked back dark hair and a thin smile. The woman, Alexandria Knox, looked softer but with a blondish grey severe bob and dark eyeliner. Both sat straight with rigid postures, Dearmont in all black, Knox in navy blue, giving off an air of intimidation that made Molly’s nervousness heighten._

_Molly shook each of their hands in turn and sat down on the other side of the table. She laid her folder in front of her. She had heard that the real power in Shuster and Walpole came from Neill Shuster himself, but she didn't expect him to be here interviewing people for a junior position._

_"So Miss Martin, you are looking for a position with us then," Walpole said, more as a statement than a question._

_She gave a nervous smile. "Yes, sir. I've heard a lot of things about Shuster and Walpole."_

_He returned her smile with a curt, severe one. "Good things I hope."_

_"Oh yes, yes indeed."_

_"Miss Martin, what makes you think you are suited to a place like Shuster and Walpole?" he asked. Shuster was blunt and cold in his questioning, something she’d been told about him from an old lecturer_

_"Well, you specialize in a number of areas, one of those being patents. You are the biggest firm in Boston to do so. I have an interest and specialised in that area in my law degree, particularly patents in the life science area, something I am familiar with."_

_"That is correct, Miss Martin, but we have a lot of upcoming competition. Many of these companies are hiring private lawyers to do their business, which hurts us. How do you think we might overcome it? How do you think you personally might contribute to that?" Alexandria Knox asked._

_Molly swallowed hard, she was prepared for this type of question to be asked but that didn’t stop the nerves from firing again. "Well, building a good rapport with the client is likely the best way. I have a background in life sciences, and have worked there for a number of years."_

_Greg Dearmont looked to Alexandria Knox and gave her a smirk._

_"And how do we build that rapport, Miss Martin?" Dearmont asked._

_Molly's hands folded on themselves. "You listen to them, to their needs, what they expect, and give them feedback on what's realistic and what's not. You're honest with them about the outcomes of what will happen."_

_Herbert Walpole gave a sarcastic smile. Molly could read that he thought it naive maybe, but she promised herself that she’d be honest in her replies. If this was to become a permanent position she’d make it clear as to who she was, and how she would deal with interactions with clients._

_"We reserve telling that sort of thing to our clients who have been indicted for a crime, Miss Martin, not our corporate clients." He looked down and flipped through some paper. "It says that you went to Tufts University for your undergrad."_

_"That's correct yes, I majored in life sciences."_

_Knox looked up from the paper, obviously Molly's resume, with her brow raised and head tilted. "And New England Law School - part time for your law degree?"_

_Molly felt her gut churn. "Yes. It's a good school, my--my father is a Professor there."_

_The panel looked to each other, Dearmont raising his brow in the process._

_"Miss Martin, what experience do you have in law related matters besides having worked in the bioscience area?" Dearmont asked._

_"Um-- well, um, none aside the work experience from my degree and from passing the bar." The flutter in Molly’s stomach continued, she knew what they were thinking – all those admitted to law had specific levels of work experience they had to complete, but somehow it only really counted depending on the law school you attended._

_"Miss Martin, I'm not sure--"_

_Molly’s heart began to sink. This would be the fourth interview for a position she sat for; however, this time, she came prepared and before Walpole finished Molly interrupted him. "If you'll excuse me, Mr Walpole, Mr Dearmont, Ms Knox. I have a proposition, if you will indulge me for a moment?"_

_Walpole scratched his ear a look of annoyance crossing his face. "Very well Miss Martin."_

_Molly stood and handed them each folders from her small portfolio case._

_"What are these?" Knox asked._

_"Ah, Ms Knox, as you are aware, after I finished my undergrad I worked for Three Tier Bioscience."_

_"Yes, I can see that," she said._

_"Well, during my time there, I cultivated a rapport with many of the scientists and with the executive. They were, a good bunch."_

_Walpole sighed and pursed his lips. "Where is this going Miss Martin?"_

_“Inside the folders in front of you is a deal I have tentatively brokered with Three Tier Bioscience to be their representative patent attorney. And I guess what I am saying is, that, I can do this alone, but I know my experience is limited. The support of a prestigious firm such as Shuster and Walpole would be--very good for all parties involved."_

_Knox barked out a small laugh. "And what makes you think that we couldn't barter such a thing for ourselves?"_

_Molly gave a nervous but satisfied smile. "Three Tier Bioscience is a family corporation, small but very successful. They consider loyalty and devotion to company important to their business.” She loved her old job, but she knew she had to move on, there were bigger and brighter things out there, as nervous as she was she hoped they would listen. “I know for a fact that Shuster and Walpole have tried to court Three Tier in the past-- without success – I found this out not through any insider knowledge but through business magazines and paying attention.” The more she talked the more she became confident in how this would play out. “When I approached my supervisors about doing night school and getting a law degree they were very encouraging and hoped that one day I might even be considered part of their corporate entity. I could go back and work for them, but I convinced them that maybe a bigger law firm would be a better option. They were keen, and they trust me."_

_Herbert Walpole's smile went wide across his face and his eyes appeared to be lit from the mirth he looked to be holding back. Molly pulled her chin up and felt her chest puff out a little at that look. She knew it had impressed him._

_"Miss Martin, would you give us a moment?"_

_Molly stepped back out into the reception area. The receptionist smiled at her. "This is a nice place to work," she said._

_Molly nodded and sat down. She was there for ten minutes and expected Greg, Herbert Walpole's assistant to return, perhaps to usher her out of the building, but it was Herbert Walpole himself and a man that Molly recognized as the other law firm partner, Neill Shuster._

_"Miss Martin, this is Neill Shuster," Walpole said._

_Shuster was a large man, both in height and girth and his face moon-like with dark hair greying at the temples. He extended his hand to Molly. She took Shuster's large, surprisingly soft hand, and shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Shuster."_

_"Neill, this is Molly Martin, our new Junior Patent Attorney."_

* * *

 Molly stood to one side of the bar at the Third Rail and looked over it's current patrons. The man she was looking for had yet to arrive but she was told he was here in Goodneighbor. Magnolia sang a soft blues tune and Deacon was chatting with someone several yards away. She could hear snippets of their conversation, 'Boss, hardliner', 'Abominations', 'anyone reasonable in top brass?' 'details are hard to get from their patrols' the rest of their conversation was muted by the music crescendo toward the end of the song. Deacon slid back over to where Molly stood.

"Boss."

"What was that about?" she asked.

Deacon sniffed and ran a finger under his nose. "Just some intel. Nuthin' really."

Molly put her hand on her chin as she leaned with her elbow on the bar. "Didn't sound like 'nuthin' to me."

"Nah really, just some info for Tom."

Molly sighed loudly. "You know, Deacon, I'm not stupid, you're looking for information on the Brotherhood. Why?" Her frustration level often rose the more time she spent around Deacon, what was the saying? ‘A riddle wrapped up in a mystery inside an enigma’ - and as yet she still hadn’t found the key.

Deacon turned his head and pointed to the door. "Ah, look Boss, I think that's the guy you want."

Molly watched as the man entered, then turned her attention back to Deacon. "We're going to talk about this later."

"Sure." His voice, was as flippant as usual and she knew that what Deacon probably meant was ‘I’m sure I’ll find a lie to feed to you about it later’.

Molly walked over to the man she thought to be Cedric Hopton. For a synth who had been designed for a clear purpose in mind, and doing the bidding of the Institute, Roger Warwick's description had not been very clear. "Cedric Hopton?"

"Yeah, who wants to know?" he answered in a gruff voice.

She looked him up and down, he didn’t look like someone out to gather a mob based on Bill Sutton's-- correct-- suspicion of Roger being a synth, let alone someone out to hire a bunch of mercenaries to do the deed. "I wanna know what you and Bill Sutton are planning."

Cedric snorted and turned to order a drink at the bar while Molly stood patiently behind him. He turned back to her beer in hand. "Oh yeah? What's it to ya?"

"I don't want to see innocent man come to harm because of a false accusation, simple as that," she said.

He snorted again and took a swig of beer. "What if it’s not a false accusation? And anyway, how is this your business?" He sniffed derisively and pointed a finger at her. "Unless Roger asked you to deal with this. Right?"

Molly didn't answer.

He focused his gaze on her. "Maybe we can help each other out - information always has a price and I've no loyalty to anyone. Make me an offer."

Molly scoffed at him. "You're bargaining with me when lives are at stake? Come on now, work with me."

Cedric shook his head. "Damn. Look, people are scared everywhere, not just Bill. Hell, I'm scared shitless of being taken by this 'Institute' but maybe you’re right, fears could easily be unfounded." He took out a cigarette and lit it. "Bill sent me here to get help, mercenaries if need be - this place is full of em looking for their next load of caps, but looking around-- they could as easily kill you as help you." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't know what he was thinking. I can’t hire killers. I don't know what the hell I'm even doing here, except maybe having a drink. Look, I'm not going back right away, Bill's probably gonna figure out that I'm chickening out. That means you are gonna have to deal with him, he's pissed about the whole thing. Scared and pissed, you gotta go deal with it."

He waved his hand dismissively and walked away before Molly could reply. She was left shaking her head. The settlers were scared, they all were. Of being replaced, of having their families ripped in half by suspicion and fear. If there was anything at the top of her list as to why she didn’t like what the Institute was doing-- it was this. She’d seen it over and over, in every settlement that came under the Minutemen’s protection. And here she was aiding in just that.

Deacon put his hand on Molly's shoulder. "We gotta go, Boss. If he is as scared as Hopton says-- then he's dangerous."

Molly nodded. "Better get our skates on then."

Deacon chortled. "I remember seeing pictures of that in old books. I've always wanted to go roller skating."

* * *

They raced to the Homestead as fast as they could, and into a possibly dangerous situation.

When they arrived, loud shouting came from inside the building. Molly and Deacon drew their weapons and stepped tentatively over the threshold. Molly's heart raced and she looked to Deacon, who gave her a reassuring nod.

"You're gonna admit it, Roger, one way or another, and then we'll all know." Bill Sutton was brandishing a gun in Roger Warwick’s direction

Janey Warwick’s voice was soft and pleading. "Bill, no, please, please don't hurt him."

Roger stood against the back wall his arms up and hands leaning on is head. "You're insane. Bill, I'm begging you not to do this."

Bill Sutton turned to see Molly and Deacon edging closer. "Stop. You. I knew you were part of this so this. You're to blame." She felt the sting of truth behind the statement, but knew that she had to push most of her honesty aside for this confrontation. That same nauseous feeling that had persisted for weeks began to rise. She felt the constriction around her throat and she swallowed hard to try and suppress it.

Molly's voice was muted and gentle, partly in response to the threat, partly in response to the rising bile at the back of her throat. "Please, Bill, calm down. You're letting fear get the better of you."

"Calm down? Calm down? These-- these-- things--" He pointed his gun menacingly at Roger. "They're everywhere. Are you one of them? I saw you. You showed up out of nowhere, having your little tete-tete with Roger, then going off to hunt down Cedric. I know what you are."

Molly’s heartbeat quickened and she felt on the verge of retching. If she didn’t diffuse the situation Roger might not be the only one dead here. She took a long slow breath, and thought back to her training. She wasn’t a trial lawyer by any means, but they all knew how to deal with hostile clients and witnesses. Bill wasn’t the smartest of men, but he actively perceived a threat from the Institute with Roger. She had to make him think otherwise, that his idea that Roger was a synth was mistaken, an appeal to reason, to his place here at Warwick Homestead, might be the way. "Bill I'm the General of the Minutemen, I helped the settlement get rid of those feral ghouls. I come here all the time. To help the homestead, to help you all. Remember?”

Bill looked her up and down with his gun still pointed at Roger. "Who's to say you're not one of them."

"No one. I don't want anyone to get hurt. See?" Bill saw the threats around him, and she knew her standing there as one of those threats could make things worse. The only choice she felt she had now was to lay her gun down at her feet.

"Boss, that really isn't a good idea. Crazed madman, gun still pointing at you. Not unless you want to be a human sieve, and who am I to judge-- I mean--"

"Deacon," she said, keeping her eyes and attention firmly on Bill when she spoke. "You really want to leave June and Wally without a father, Bill? You know them, you care for them, you've been here a while. Think about the consequences."

Bill snorted. "Their father is likely dead and I'm guessing you mighta had a hand in it. What, you willing to take a bullet for a synth?"

Molly stepped closer and she felt her stomach flutter with nerves, but this was the only way she'd get Bill to listen. "If it means I'm protecting innocents, then yes. I swore to uphold the tenets of the Minutemen, to help the settlers get back on their feet."

At the mention of the settlers Bill lowered his weapon. "Shit. Shit. I thought, I really thought--"

"It's good that you're thinking about these things, but accusing people who've done no harm, what good is that?" She kept the tone of her voice soft and low and hoped that her demeanour remained unthreatening to him.

He looked to Janey, June and Wally. "I'm sorry I--, I gotta leave, I gotta think this through.” He looked to Molly. “I should go. Can--can I go?"

Molly hesitated before answering, part of her wanted to make sure he was okay, the man had guessed the truth about Roger, and now he was confused. "Yes, “ she nodded.

Bill left hurriedly through the door and when he was gone Roger was the first at her side. "Thank god, he could have killed me."

Molly picked her gun up from the ground and pulled back the slide, ensuring the pistol was loaded before turning back to him. "Roger, if you hurt anyone here, no matter what the Institute says, I will come back and put a bullet in you myself."

"That won't happen. You can tell our mutual friend the seeds will go in as planned. And I can go back to my family."

 _My family_. Molly felt the sudden irony in the Roger’s statement. He had replaced the real Roger, yet here he was concerned over ‘family’. She nodded to him before turning to Deacon. "Let’s get out of here."

They left Roger to console his family and headed back to the Railroad Headquarters. The nausea subsided yet again.

* * *

On the road back to the old North Church Molly turned to Deacon as their footsteps moved in unison. "Why are you looking for information on the Brotherhood of Steel? Is that what you were talking about back in the Third Rail?"

"If I said no would you believe me?"

Molly let out a stuttering laugh. "No, I would not."

"Then yes, it was about the Brotherhood of Steel, as you rightly surmised earlier."

"You're looking to find out what they're doing here in the Commonwealth?"

Deacon nodded.

"Well, I guess it's not like you're planning on bringing down the airship or anything,” she chuckled.

He shook his head and said nothing.

For an instant, Molly caught an extra tightness fall across his lips. She stopped and turned to him, she’d known Deacon long enough to know that he wasn’t a man to have tells, but here he was giving her just that. "You're not, are you?"

"Not exactly, Boss."

"Not exactly? What the hell does that mean, Deacon?" Her voice had a vexed quality to it.

"It depends on--on intel."

Molly put her hand over her mouth while she shook her head. "I guess I'm the last to know these things," she said and gritted her teeth. "I should be speaking with Desdemona about this."

Deacon shrugged. "Might be for the best, Boss."

She stalked ahead of him. Deacon ran to catch up with her. "Boss, come on now, you know the Brotherhood well enough and what they stand for. You know what the Railroad has got to do."

Molly stopped and rubbed her temples. "This is not what--not why I joined the Railroad. Not why--" She gave a deep sigh. "I suspect I need to steel myself for this next conversation." She knew Desdemona was not a compromiser. From their discussions about settlers it was clear that she had no interest in what Molly did on that front, aside from how it could benefit the Railroad. Steeling herself meant being ready for her dissenting view on the Brotherhood to be dismissed or even mocked.

They arrived back at Railroad HQ and Molly felt the issue with the Brotherhood was pressing enough to want her immediate attention. Whatever the outcome of this conversation she needed the upper hand. There could be no subtlety, she’d have to straight up tell her that adding any extra conflict might complicate matters. Molly was good at subtlety; however, at confrontation, not so confident in its orchestration.She just needed to phrase things with the suggestion that engaging the Brotherhood could compromise what they planned for freeing the synths within the Institute.

"Desdemona, a word," Molly said with a flat tone.

"Charmer. You got to the last dead drop all right?"

"Yes. I need to speak with you about something else."

Desdemona raised her brow and was about to bring an unlit cigarette to her lips. "Go ahead."

"It's about the Brotherhood of Steel."

Desdemona gave a mocking laugh and put the cigarette in her mouth, lit it, and inhaled before waving the match in the air and dropping it to the ground. She looked behind Molly towards Deacon who was standing nearby. "What has he told you?"

"Nothing directly. I guessed," Molly replied.

"You guessed? What did you expect? The Brotherhood is here to destroy synths."

"You don't know that any more than Deacon or I do."

She sniffed loudly. "Don't need to know, we know what they stand for, we know their reputation." She addressed Deacon again. "What have you found out?"

Molly turned to her companion. "Yes, Deacon, spill the 'intel'."

"Their chief is a hardliner. No compromising. Haven't really got much more than that, Dez."

Molly held back a laugh, it seems the Railroad wasn’t the only organisation to have someone uncompromising as their leader. She touched briefly on the thought that her own leadership and been effective for exactly the opposite reason.

"I guess we keep digging then."

Molly turned her attention back to Desdemona. "Are you planning on bringing their airship down?"

Desdemona tilted her head. "And what if we were? It's not like they're welcome here."

It was Molly's turn to laugh. "Seems you and I run in different circles then. Quite a number of people-- settlers-- have expressed some relief to me about the Brotherhood’s presence. You know, they're usually the ones who've been attacked by mutants and feral ghouls and goddamn terrified of their loved ones being replaced by synths, just like I saw today at Warwick Homestead."

Desdemona took another drag of her cigarette. "That's the Institutes fault. The mutants and ghouls aren't our problem."

"Clearly. But, they are mine. So are the lives of my settlers. If the Brotherhood can give them some breathing space next to the constant attacks against them, then damn if I won't welcome them, too."

Desdemona tilted her head and locked eyes on Molly. "Are you speaking as General of the Minutemen, not as an Agent of the Railroad then?"

Molly grinded her teeth. "Are you questioning my loyalty in helping synths?"

Desdemona looked her up and down. "Yes, I'm questioning your loyalty. Would you give your life for a synth?"  
This wasn’t the first time Molly had been questioned about what she would do for a synth, and the fact it was happening here and now, after all she’d achieved for the Railroad, she found particularly galling.

She rubbed her brow and licked her lips. "I have gotten you a foot in the door of the Institute. I got you a viable connection to Patriot. I've liaised to help the Railroad, no questions asked. I recall even killing corsairs in the Railroad’s name. I believe that synths wanting freedom deserve to live their lives as they see fit. But I also believe that compromise and discussion are not dirty words."

Desdemona threw her head back and chuckled. "What, you going to go into talks with the Brotherhood? Deacon, do you hear this?"

Deacon didn't laugh. "Yeah, I hear."

"I can't see any other way forward. Blowing up a Brotherhood airship does what? Maybe, just maybe, a few synths get away. In the long run though, you honestly don't think there won't be reprisals?”  
Desdemona remained quiet.

“The Brotherhood of Steel exists well beyond the borders of the Commonwealth. Synths will be travelling right into the heart of Brotherhood prime territory. There's a whole damn city in the Capital. There's a whole West Coast chapter too. People are frightened and see the Brotherhood as something that might actually be of use to their everyday lives." She shook her head disapprovingly. "Besides, you can't tell me that airship doesn't have innocents on board."

"It's true, Dez, they have squires, kids mostly," Deacon said.

Molly felt the hairs on the back of her neck turn up as she glanced at Deacon. She turned back to Desdemona. "Kids." Molly's tone was one of quiet anger. "You're quite comfortable with the idea of blowing up an airship that has children on board? Or people who likely joined the Brotherhood for a better life for them and their families? To escape starvation, exploitation or slavery, poverty? People not necessarily blindly believing the tenets of the Brotherhood?"

Desdemona stubbed her cigarette on the ground. "Collateral damage. If they signed up with the Brotherhood then they are in opposition to our beliefs. Simple."

Molly bowed her head and ran her hand down her face. "While I am here, you will not touch that airship. Understood?"

"Charmer, we will do whatever it takes to protect synths. That is what we do. That is why we exist."

Molly scratched her brow and her fist clenched at her side. "I got you access to the Institute, and for the most part, I follow the requests and orders that are given. But you will not touch that airship while I am at the Institute. Understood?"

"You give yourself too much credit, _General_. We would have gotten to the Institute eventually."

Molly gave an incredulous laugh. Her voice quavered as the volume of her voice rose. "Give myself too much credit," she said and shook her head. "If you said that to me several months ago, I would have agreed. Sure, you would have got the Institute eventually – how eventually? One, two, ten years? You got there because of me." She pointed angrily to her chest. "Me. General Molly Gould, who can't shoot for shit, who in this short time out of that fucking vault I've reformed the Minutemen, helped develop twenty eight settlements and got you your precious access to the Institute at my personal loss. I give myself the damn credit I deserve. And today, I stood between a madman and a synth, without a weapon, with only my words as protection, because the synth was one of my settlers, so, ask me again if I would die for a synth."

Desdemona bit her lip and crossed her arms across her chest. "What do you propose then?"

"What I propose is that you will not touch that airship. Not while I am here, not while I carry out the business you've asked me to do on behalf of the Railroad and within the Institute. Understood?"

"That sounds like an ultimatum, _Charmer_ ," she said in a derisive tone.

"Consider it a 'negotiation' rather than an ultimatum. You do not touch the airship. No pre-emptive strike, no fighting, nothing until your 'intel'--" Molly looked pointedly at Deacon. "Can tell you their exact purpose here in the Commonwealth. Until then, I will talk with them. I will try and find out why they're here. Understood?"

Desdemona gave a long sigh. "Understood." Her tone conveyed an air of reluctant acceptance.

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned and walked away without saying anything further only stopping when Desdemona began talking again.

"When the Institute is gone, we need to talk again, Charmer. Whether you come out of that an agent is still up for ‘discussion’.

Molly turned her head to the side. "Understood." She headed towards PAM’s location. It hadn't gone as smoothly as she had hoped but she felt there was no other way for Desdemona and the Railroad to see reason. It meant she'd have to follow through on her idea of talking with the Brotherhood, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

She hadn't seen Deacon follow her and it was only his hand on her shoulder that she responded to her name.

"Boss."

She gave a tired sigh. "What is it Deacon?"

"For what it’s worth, I know Desdemona is hardcore. Ha, I guess her and the Brotherhood guy might be in parallel opposites on that front. But you know she's just determined for synths to get their freedom."

Molly nodded. "I know that, but at all or any cost? Do you buy into that?"

He gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I do, I guess. I mean I've talked with her about making it easier for others – like the settlers, civilians. I got you to thank for making me think about that side of things more. I mean you care about that."

She gave him a sad smile. "I care because--" Molly stopped mid-sentence and her eyes began to swim with stars. "I don't feel so good--" She fell forward and Deacon caught her in his arms before she hit the floor.

* * *

It was barely a few minutes that Molly was unconscious. Enough time to drag her over to Carrington's section of the Railroad HQ. When she came to, both Carrington and Deacon were standing over her talking.

"What happened?" Carrington asked.

"I don't know she just fainted," Deacon replied.

Molly pushed them both away as she rose to a sitting position.

"Not too fast, Molly," Carrington said. "How are you feeling?"

She shook her head. "Just a bit dizzy is all."

"Has this happened before?"

She shook her head no. "I've been feeling unwell of late, maybe a little lightheaded at times but I never passed out. It's just radiation sickness catching up with me."

Carrington shooed Deacon away. "Let me speak with the patient privately."

"If you need anything, Boss, I'll be over with Tom."

"Okay," she said and nodded.

"Let's look at you," Carrington said and lifted her chin to feel her glands. "Have you been taking radaway or rad-X?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, all the time."

"Mhmm." He turned and grabbed a tongue depressor from a set of instruments nearby. "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

She opened her mouth and Carrington took a good long look. "Any other symptoms?"

Molly shrugged. "I've been tired, run down. A little sick, but that's kind of sporadic, it comes and goes. I am feeling a little sick at the moment, usually disappears when I eat something."

"Are you taking any other medications or-- drugs?"

Molly felt a heat come to her cheeks. "I take Buffout mostly. Settlers need things, it’s the only way I can get this much stuff to them. Nothing else other than that and stimpaks."

"I see.” He tapped his chin. “How much Buffout are we talking here? Every few days, once in awhile?"

"A fair amount. I’ve come to rely on it, I’ve never been physically strong. I--, although after I came back from the Institute I cut back." She gave him a nervous smile.

“I guess there are worse things you could take, but addiction to drugs is never going to be an easy thing to kick.”

“I had a full medical at the Institute, after-- after I got used to the idea of where I was. The treated me for the addiction, radiation sickness, and a few other things they said were 'anomalies' in my system, most likely impurities from food or water or both.”

Carrington nodded. “Anything else you can tell me?”

"Oh and I take a regular stimpack with a contraceptive in it. But I've been taking that for a long time with no ill affect."

"How long?"

"I started a couple of months out of the vault. Over a year now."

"So you are sexually active then?"

Molly gave an embarrassed laugh. "Ah well, I wasn't taking it for that purpose initially. But ahh--" she rubbed the back of her neck. “I was up until about three months ago."

"So when was your last menstrual period?"

Her brow furrowed at the question. "I haven't really had one since I started taking the stims."

"Ahh. So you wouldn't know if you were pregnant or not then," Carrington stated.

Molly choked back a laugh. "Oh I think I'd know." She waved a hand at him. "It's not like I haven't been pregnant before. I would know."

Carrington sighed. "Then you'd also know that symptoms may differ from pregnancy to pregnancy."

Molly nodded. "I know."

“Molly, can you take your armor off, and maybe we'll have a feel of your stomach?"

"I'm not pregnant, Carrington,” she said with an emphatic tone in her voice. The suggestion was ludicrous in her mind.

"I still need to feel your stomach, if you feel sick, it could be a range of things, appendicitis or some other gut infection and for that I need to examine you." He motioned to her torso. "You don't need to remove your clothes just lift your shirt up and pull the waistband of your pants down."

She gave a weary sigh. "Okay then." Molly pulled out the shirt from her pants. It had been a while since she had to strip for a medical examination and Carrington’s space in the headquarters, although in the far corner, didn’t feel particularly private. Past issues meant she was used to being prodded and poked, but it didn’t necessarily make it easier. Once partially undressed, her stomach exposed and feeling the cool of the underground, she lay down.

"No cough or chest pain?"

"No, nothing like that."

Carrington pressed on her stomach at her side where her appendix lay and asked her repeatedly if it hurt.

"No, nothing hurts. I feel a bit bloated, though."

"You can get up and dressed now."

Molly sat upright, buttoned her shirt and pulled the waistband back into place. She went and sat down on the chair next to Carrington who was rifling through the drawers of his desk. He shut the top drawer with a thud and sighed.

"What is it, Carrington?"

"Are you sure there isn't a possibility you are pregnant, Molly?"

"Quite sure."

"I'm being dead serious here. Your womb feels firm to the touch. Not that it's a given sign for pregnancy there are many reasons for it to feel that way, it could be something else within the womb, and, I don't want to upset you, it might be nothing or it could be something more serious. The possibility of pregnancy is high on the list given your other symptoms and within the realm of possibility given you've been sexually active."

"I haven't had sex in over three months. I've been pregnant before, several times in fact. I know what it feels like. This doesn't feel the same, plus I had a huge amount of difficulty getting pregnant before, and considering my age-- I would say the likelihood of that is very low. I’ve been very careful."

Carrington turned and placed his hands on his knees. "Without a proper test I can't say yes or no. Normally I could test for it and you'd have an answer in a few minutes but the safehouses have taken most of my supplies. I'm not due for any replacements for at least a week. I could take a blood test, but again you'd be waiting a week for the result because I just don't have the medical diagnostics available right now."

"I'm not pregnant, Carrington," she said again.

He smiled. "The Wasteland has a low birth rate, granted, but we-- I wouldn't be here otherwise. Life finds a way. Without any other test available to me it could be cancer or something else unpleasant, would you rather it be that?"

"I'd rather it be nothing more than a lasting case of food poisoning and overwork. I just need to sleep for a week."

"I want you to put this in the 'possible' basket. Are you going back to the Institute any time soon?"

She gave him a confused look. "Yes, I am, why?"

"I would take advantage of any advanced medical diagnostics they have at their fingertips, get yourself tested, find out. And if it is appendicitis or a tumor or something else, they could treat you. Or if you're pregnant--"

Molly started laughing again, the notion that she could be pregnant never entered her thoughts, she's sure if MacCready was here he'd be laughing too--she tilted her head down and her laughter stopped abruptly at that thought--maybe he wouldn't be laughing at the suggestion, they had barely discussed it beyond ‘it’s not a good idea’, and a vague memory that she might have unintentionally insulted him by saying she didn’t want some ‘asshole’s baby’. But that felt a long time ago, now though? She had no idea. There had been so many other things that took precedence to that. She shook the thought from her mind, the whole idea was ridiculous. She stood and put on her chest piece and coat. As she buttoned her jacket she glanced towards the other side of the room where Deacon and Tom were, then back to Carrington. "I've had several contraceptive stims since I last had sex, I've got another one due in a week and a half. First of the month and all that.”  
Although she was dismissive of the idea, she was also scared, what if it were true. With MacCready gone and her still dealing with the institute she didn’t need-- she didn’t want to entertain the idea that she could be pregnant, the very idea had terrified her out of the vault. And after? The Wasteland was no place for a child-- she told herself this many times when she was still looking for Shaun.  
She looked away and down. Then it flashed before her. The relieved faces of Janey, Wally and June, Roger’s family. They were happy, they were-- she sniffed and pulled her hair behind her ears and stood upright. “I can’t possibly be pregnant."

Carrington put his hands up in exasperation. "I can't make you have any tests, or for that matter make you take advantage of the advanced medical knowledge in the Institute. However, I would, if I were you. And if the pregnancy isn't wanted then--"

Molly interrupted him, a hint of frustration masking her features. "Thank you Carrington," she said and placed her hat on.

"Whatever you decide to do, Molly. You can come back here of course, we have the ability to deal with the issue if needed. Also, maybe in the interim, don’t take any more Buffout, okay?"

She nodded, gave him a forced smile, and then walked over to Deacon and Tom.

"I'm headed – I'm headed back to Sanctuary, see if I can contact the Brotherhood, you can stay here, Deacon or come back to Sanctuary if you want."

"Okay, Boss, nothing for me here, I can come." He looked her up and down. "You okay to travel?"

Molly gave him a weak smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Let's get going."

* * *

When they arrived back in Sanctuary, the place was a hive of activity. Preston came to greet her.

"Any word from the Minutemen down in the Capital, Preston?" she asked, eager to have some news of MacCready and the Minutemen.

Preston gave a quiet chuckle. "It's been over two weeks, they wouldn't be there yet – not unless they ran all the way. You have some letters though."

She laughed and bowed her head. "No, I guess they wouldn't be there yet." She wanted to hear more about the homestead, and how things were with Duncan, but she had to still herself and be patient. You couldn't just get on a plane and be down in DC in a flash, as much as she wanted to, that wouldn't happen. She looked up and plastered a serious demeanor across her face. "Preston, a word in private?"

He nodded and they began walking in the direction of her office. Preston laid a hand on her arm and pointed to the new Settler's Hall. "We've moved, General. All the Minutemen stuff is on the second floor."

"Nice." It would be a lot quieter than where it was before, right next to the pool lounge and bar.

Inside the ground floor of the hall had been set up as a meeting space, a bathroom and kitchen on one side, a small space you could call a library on the other. Upstairs on one side was the new schoolroom and on the other another meeting space. In the corner was Molly's desk. Everything had been moved and placed exactly where she’d left it, including MacCready's toy soldier. She picked it it up and ran her fingers over it’s faded surface, the paint worn from years spent in his pack or his pocket. She closed her eyes for a moment, a fleeting ‘I miss you, I love you’ ran through her mind.

They sat down near the desk and Molly grabbed some paper and a pencil.

"What is it, General?" Preston asked.

"I want to meet with the Brotherhood of Steel."

Preston started laughing, a loud chortle. "You what?"

"I want to meet with the Brotherhood, try and find out why they're here, hoping they won't cause any trouble."

"General-- Molly, they're not going to want to talk with you or anyone else here, they're a law unto themselves. They don’t care about the Commonwealth or it’s citizens."

"Then why are they here? Why the megaphone arrival about ‘nothing to fear’. Are you saying they won't even meet with me?"

"I'm saying exactly that -- they won't meet with you."

She bit her lip and rubbed her jaw. "You don’t know that. Besides, really, Preston, you underestimate the power in a nicely worded invite."

He narrowed his eyes, a smirk danced across his lips. "Words, hey, General? Are you planning to invite them to afternoon tea? I think I know you well enough not to underestimate you - and that there will be a lot more than words if you’re going to write to them."

Molly put a smug smile on her face as she began to write. "There are five golden rules for negotiating, Preston. The first is to know that the information you have is power.”  
Preston nodded. “What information?”

Molly tapped her nose. She knew some were opposed to the Brotherhood’s presence, although she would never betray the confidence of the Railroad, or of the feelings within the ranks of her own Minutemen, but she felt it enough to hint that their presence was not welcome in all corners of the Commonwealth. “They don’t know our connections, to the Railroad, or mine to the Institute. I have this feeling that it might mean something, I don’t know what yet. They might not see it as a threat, but if they had not considered that, it might at least cajole them into listening to us.”

“And the other rules?”

“The second is how to use that information for leverage, the third is to be as fair and objective as you can. The fourth is to know what you can give, understand what you can take. And finally-- when all that is dressed and sitting holding one of your finest China teacups and waiting to be offered milk and one lump or two, make sure you control the agenda."

“What is that agenda exactly, General? I’m a little lost on this.”

“To find out the real reason they’re here. Find out if it conflicts with our goals in anyway. To get them to help out the settlements. You can’t bring a carafe of water to a parched man and then not share it with him. All that firepower? All that talk of getting rid of mutants and feral ghouls? The attacks on our settlements are unrelenting. We could use a hand.”

“We can handle most of it, our ranks have swelled. Thanks to you.”

Molly gave a satisfied smile. “Yes I know we can handle it. But I also know raider’s in particular are becoming more brazen. That rumor--”

“The one about the Raider gang city?”

“Yes that one. I’m worried. I don’t want any of my settlements at the mercy of raider warlords. Not on my watch, Preston. I’ve seen what they do, how they operate. They're worse than Gunners.”

Preston nodded. “Agreed, General. Given what happened at Quincy, I can’t imagine they’d be any more merciful.”

Molly laid a hand on Preston’s arm. “No they wouldn’t be. And you heard it here first, I will never negotiate with raiders.”

Preston's quiet laugh reverberated against Molly's chest. It was comforting to hear that laugh. "General, every day you surprise me," he said.

"Do I, Preston? Or maybe it’s just that people don't pay me attention, they make assumptions about me, they see me as soft, forgiving, forever compromising and making sure everyone is happy. They don't understand that I do that partly as self-preservation, as much as for them. I don't think I could survive otherwise."

He tilted his head. "Difficult to see the undercurrent and depth when the surface looks so serene."

She gave a short snort of a laugh. "You flatter me, still waters maybe, but I’m not _that_ deep. Perhaps I should let them continue to underestimate me, because then they'll never know what I'm capable of."

For a moment Molly forgot about everything other than the task in hand, to write this letter, hoping it would be of interest to the Brotherhood. Thoughts of MacCready, of the Institute and Shaun, of the Railroad’s plans and what Carrington had said to her, she pushed to the side. She finished writing and folded the paper before handing it to Preston.

He left with a fingertip to his hat and a smile on his face.


	8. To hell in a handbasket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter finds MacCready amid a crisis at the homestead, one that could lead to the settlement's revival or possibly it's demise.

A dozen settlers, more than half the homestead’s adult population, crowded into the small hall that stood at the centre of the settlement. Many had worked long hours to plant seedlings on the homestead’s farm, to make sure they were well established in the ground before the bite of winter took hold. MacCready stood with his back to the wall, off to the side, and watched as people shuffled to find a seat, bleary eyed, yawning and exhaustion marring their faces. It had been a struggle to organise the meeting, many grumbled that this was the last thing they wanted to do after a hard day in the field. But it had to be done. They’d come together to talk about Basket Hill, the neighboring settlement whose population had been decimated by a devastating super mutant attack, the remaining members fleeing here to safety more than six months prior.

Abdul, the homestead’s default leader, stood at the front of the group. “Thanks everyone for coming, I know you’re all exhausted and want to get back to your homes and rest, I promise this won’t take long.”

Trevor, as MacCready soon learned, was the one settler who always had something to say, turned to the group. “You know why we’re here, we’ve been talking about this for a while, but we can’t wait any longer. If we want Basket Hill back, if we want to return to our homes and reclaim the settlement from those bastard raiders, to repopulate and strengthen the ties between our homesteads, we’ve gotta start planning.”

“Winter is at a our doorstep and we’re struggling for a good crop. Basket Hill has much more fertile land. We can work together and have our flourishing farmlands back,” Abdul added.

Joseph, seated at the back of the hall looked towards MacCready. “That means a fight.” He glanced around the room and sighed. “What about RJ’s friend, the Minutemen General? Why not wait?”

Trevor shook his head and stood up from his chair. "We can’t wait for them. How do we even know this 'General' that RJ’s been talking about will help us?" He looked towards MacCready. “We've heard nothing.”

MacCready pushed himself away from the wall, put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a letter and waved it in the air. “I know they’ll help because this arrived this morning.”

A murmur rose from the assembled group.

Molly’s letter had been timely, considering the course of action the settlers now wanted to take. “The General has already sent several Minutemen our way, to help us help ourselves. It shouldn’t be long before they arrive.” He laughed inwardly. It was just like Molly to say ‘help you help yourself’. You never saw her guiding hand, her encouragement was so unobtrusive you were often convinced that it was you all along that came up with the idea to ‘help yourself’.

"I don't mean to doubt you, RJ," Stephi said. "It's just, you've told us so very little about her, only that her Minuteman would help. But what I know of the Minutemen, they were all massacred at Quincy, that’s old news. How can they help us help ourselves when they themselves were massacred by their own troops?"

Many settlers were nodding their heads in agreement.

MacCready faced the group and sighed, he hadn't needed to prove Molly's worth to anyone, she had done that herself with no help from him. But this was different, the group didn't know her, didn't know what she had done for him, or for the settlers of the Commonwealth. In the short time he'd been back, he hadn't really spoken about her to anyone but Duncan. He wasn't sure why, maybe that most of the people who lived here had known Lucy, and that he was supposed to feel a measure of guilt about moving on -- it had stopped him from talking about Molly, especially when others here often mentioned Lucy. "I'm not sure what I can say that can convince you, but this General, Molly Gould-- Molly. I wouldn't be here without her." He pointed back to the house where Duncan lay in bed fast asleep. "Duncan wouldn't be here. She helped me find a cure, she helped me--" He hesitated, not sure about mentioning the help she had given with the Gunners. He glanced around the room, the earnest faces of the settlers at the homestead, the ones who had accepted him, Lucy and Duncan without question, Carol and Geoff, Stephi and Abdul, the many others here, even Trevor who came from another settlement and didn’t know him from a blade of irradiated grass had encouraged a friendship between his son and Duncan. So he let his heart talk. "And-- and-- I love her." He laughed and trod a heel into the ground like an embarrassed school boy.

Another murmur went up around the room and a snort from Joseph. "I suspected as much," he said and punched MacCready's shoulder. "RJ, that's enough for me, I know your trust isn't something you easily to give to others.”

MacCready swallowed hard. He knew that trust had always been his biggest issue, he’d barely had a sense of that trust since he left Little Lamplight. He had a taste of it-- for a while, here with Lucy and Duncan. But it vanished in a puff of smoke when Lucy died and Duncan fell sick. To have that acknowledged by an old friend, lessened his discomfort about revealing his feelings.

“Let's just hope your General's soldiers arrive soon then, we need all the help we can get," Joseph added.

"Until then, we have to go to Basket Hill, deal with these raiders that have taken over the Settlement," Trevor added. "We can't wait any longer."

MacCready nodded. "I agree. The more settlements you have under a banner, the stronger you'll be, the more people you'll attract. I know you’ve been keeping an eye on the settlement, but raiders are ruthless and unpredictable; I've seen it first-hand," he said.

"Those bastard raiders moved in before we even had a chance to bury our dead," Trevor added.

"Another recon then, me and Trev," Abdul said.

MacCready stepped forward. "No, Abdul, let someone else, let me. You've got a newborn, Izzy's barely three weeks old now. Trev?"

"Yeah, Abdul, let RJ and I go. Just to see what's up."

“I can come, too.” Dixie added. MacCready had known her to be one of the most stubborn of the homestead's residents; he couldn’t say no without an argument.

"Dixie, you sure?" Abdul said. “Two people should be enough for a recon.”

She pushed a strand of dark hair from her face, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes at him without saying anything.

Abdul put his hands up in surrender. "Okay."

The group dispersed for the evening and Carol approached MacCready, a comforting smile across her face, decades of a harsh Wasteland life etched in each deep furrowed line. "MacCready."

He turned to face her, one of the few people in the homestead a good head shorter than he, minus the kids, of course. "Yeah, Carol?"

"If your General is half the woman Lucy was, then you're a lucky man twice over," she said and laid a hand on his arm.

Carol’s touch was light, barely a graze, the heaviness came in the form of a memory, of what he had before, of what he had now.

“When Lucy died, we were all--"

MacCready gave her a sad smile. "I know, Carol. And Molly-- I never thought--” he stalled, he wanted to say he never thought he’d love again, but that felt like too much outward emotion, he’d already told people he loved her, that was more than he ever said out loud before. “I think you'd like her."

"Can she make mutfruit preserves as good as mine?"

He plastered a smirk across his face recalling a less than wholesome moment between him and Molly. "Carol, no one can make mutfruit preserves like you do."

"That was the answer I was looking for." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before walking out the door.

He followed her out and walked across the homestead central courtyard. There was a glow in the early night sky, a rad storm cracked green lightening in the distance. The settlers returned to their homes, a slow saunter for most, tired from a day's labor.

Although he'd made it known that he hadn't intended on staying too long, Abdul, Stephi and several of the other settlers insisted on building him and Duncan a small home. He never wanted to be indebted to them, not after all they had already done for Duncan, but they insisted the building would be used after he left, that it wasn’t a big deal. Most of the settlers from Basket Hill were still in small temporary accomodation as they were deteremined to return to their original homes so weren't keen on building new and bigger homes here. He admitted, if only to himself, it would be nice to have a place that he could spend time alone with his son away from the collection of box car guest houses. So he relented, as long as he helped build it.

The spaces were small, most of the furnishings donated, a few he bartered for in exchange for animals he’d hunted. Some of the toys came from Big Town and from caravans stopping by. One room had a small table and two chairs, a kitchen bench with cupboards, and room for a couch. The bedroom barely fitted two single beds and he'd toyed with the idea of just pushing them together as more often than not he'd wake to Duncan curled up against him. He'd made it as homely as he could, given that home decoration wasn't his strong suit. He'd found an old comic billboard, and hung it above the couch. Lanterns and candles served as light sources. The bookshelves were crammed with books, comics and toys. The books, were Lucy’s. Stephi and Abdul had kept them in good condition, and he never expected for them to be returned. The comics had been passed around from kid to kid, as well as the occasional adult. Just out of reach of curious hands were his guns and ammo. There was barely an evening that passed where he and Duncan didn't nestle on the couch and read before bed. After Duncan fell asleep, next to a teddy bear half the boys size, MacCready would sit outside and smoke, write a letter to Molly, or talk with the other settlers, he and Joseph reliving past adventures.

The house was full and felt like a home. There was only one thing missing, and that could never be bought, bartered or donated to him. He’d often said he’d walk a hundred miles if there was a bunch of caps waiting at the end, but in this instance, it was four hundred miles and he’d do it all for a pair of grey blue eyes and to watch a smile spread across a freckled face.

After Stephi had given birth to a healthy baby girl, MacCready had insisted on taking over some of Abdul's hunting duties. It took him away from the homestead, away from people, and the closest he could be to an open road and a loaded weapon. His thoughts would often drift to Molly, sometimes chaste, boyish thoughts about their travels together, sometimes explicit, which always left him longing for her touch. He found every day longer he stayed, the more he felt responsible for the settlers at the homestead, they had built a home for him and Duncan, they were generous, kind and trusting. He had to tell himself he wasn't Mayor, that he might feel for them, but he wasn't going to stay, he'd made the promise to return, ‘hell or high water’ and RJ MacCready was a man of his word. He'd return to the Commonwealth, and to Molly, of that he was sure, when that would be though, he wasn't certain.

* * *

   
The walk to Basket Hill would take a about an hour and half. A deathclaw was rumored to still be roaming the woods; however, no one had seen it for weeks so hopefully their journey would not be impeded.

Trevor, Dixie, and MacCready headed out at first light. Both Duncan and Jonah, Trevor's son, took a keen interest about where their fathers were going, how long would they be gone, and why couldn't they come too. Trevor had ushered them away, told them it was time for school. MacCready had kissed Duncan's cheek and felt a pang of guilt hit him when the boy had pleaded with him to take him along. Instead, he hugged him and told him he'd be back before supper.

The path they travelled was part road, part dirt track, and for the most part, uphill. Although the weather had been inclement in the last week, they had a clear, if not a little crisp, start to the day.

The first hour of their journey was quiet, aside from the crunch of gravel and twigs snapping beneath heavy boots. Occasionally the silence of their steps was broken by Trevor’s enthusiastic conversation about what they could do with the settlement when they took it back, he had plans and ways of improving it. MacCready had simply nodded. "When did these raiders move in?" he asked.

"Not sure exactly, within a couple of weeks when we all retreated back to the homestead, after the green skins looked like they were set to stay a while," Trevor replied.

“Where did they go if they didn’t stay at the settlement?” MacCready asked.

Dixie, who'd been walking in front of the two men for most of the way turned around to talk with them. "“There’s been a lot of Brotherhood in the area, maybe they chased them off. Who knows. All I know is eight days after, when Geoff and I came back to check out the state of the settlement, those fuckers were having a fucking party."

"What? A party?" MacCready said.

"Yeah, a fucking party. There was music and they were sitting around a bonfire near old Clarissa's place. We didn't even have time to get her body from the porch."

MacCready shook his head. "It’s raiders, I guess you can’t expect much else," he replied.

"I'd like to shoot every last one of them between the eyes," Trevor added. “Everytime I come here, I line up a shot.”

“They’ve been here a while, why haven’t you?”

Trevor shrugged. “We never had a plan before.”

“And we had plenty of food, people need to regroup you know. We aren’t soldiers,” Dixie added. “The thought of starving over winter has everyone motivated even though they didn’t seem like talking about it last night.”

MacCready nodded his head. "Well, you might get your chance."

Trevor and Dixie slowed their pace and MacCready realised they must be close.  
"Almost there," Trevor said. "We need to swing around to the west of the settlement, there’s a rocky outcrop, and they shouldn't be able to see us there. Hopefully."

The outcrop was covered in a thicket of dense shrubs; Dixie dropped down on to her hands and knees and motioned for MacCready to do the same. "Keep low and no one should see you.”

“I’m a trained sniper, Dixie. I think I know how to do that.”

Dixie plastered a smirk across her face. “And here’s me thinking you’re just another snarky bullshit artist.”

He snorted a laugh but winced when he followed her into the undergrowth and bushes scratched at his face. When they reached the vantage point, he unhitched his binoculars from his belt and bought them up to his face. The outcrop had a view over the whole settlement, and it was larger than he expected, with a number of stone buildings. He was surprised, it looked like a prosperous settlement and appeared able to withstand attack, the only evidence of trouble-- one of the wooden buildings burnt down to the ground.

"How did mutants get through all of that?" he asked. “The settlement walls seem strong.”

“We had a weak spot in the southern wall. Would you believe radstags actually managed to knock some of the stone away?” Trevor sighed. "We didn't have any turrets, it was harvest and we sent most people into the fields so there wasn’t enough guards manning the gates. That weak spot we ignored because we thought, how much damage can a fucking radstag make to a stone wall? We fucked up." His voice had a note of sadness. "We got complacent, thought we wouldn't have any troubles. Thought the walls were good enough. Well, that worked out well for us, didn't it.”

"Trev, come on now," Dixie replied. "Enough of the sad sack stuff, we’ve been through this."

He sighed again. "Such a compassionate soul you are, Dix.” His comment was tinged with a level of playful sarcasm. “Let me wallow okay? I still say we should have known better. We were careless."

If Molly ever had a complaint about her settlers it was the degree of carelessness some of them exhibited. How many times he had seen the frustrated looks she pulled when another report of an attack came in. The majority of settlements were well stocked with weapons and ammunition, yet some of those same settlements fell apart the moment a raider or feral ghoul came rambling through the gate. He had shared her frustration, because it usually meant him being dragged with her to save their asses. It appeared that complacency had hit Basket Hill hard.

MacCready continued to scan the settlement until he spotted a lone figure walking from one building to another. When the person’s came into focus he examined the man's face and then dropped the binoculars. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." His mouth went dry. _Fucking Gunners._ What were those assholes doing this far south?

"What? What is it?" Dixie asked in a worried tone.

"They're not raiders," he said shaking his head.

"What do you mean? Of course-- here--" She picked the binoculars off the ground. "They look like raiders to me." She handed the binoculars on to Trevor.

"Yeah, exactly like Raiders. What are you talking about, RJ?" He handed the binoculars back to MacCready.

MacCready took a second look. Two more people and a dog had joined the man standing outside one of the main stone buildings. His jaw tightened as he looked at each of them. They were definitely Gunners, not all of them appeared in uniform, but he recognised the green flannel. "Gunners have a tattoo of their blood type on their heads. It's noticeable." He gave the binoculars back to Dixie. “See.”

She shifted awkwardly as she peered through them again. "I can't see-- oh wait, yeah, now I see it. Oh shit."

"What?" Trevor asked with an underlying tone of confusion.

She handed the binoculars back to MacCready and began scrambling backward. "We gotta get outta here. They must have seen the reflection in the glass. Sun’s low. One of them was pointing this way and if they have a dog-- we gotta go, NOW."

"Shit, shit, shit," Trevor repeated.

MacCready stood and joined them as they ran down the path back to the homestead. He knew the fact they had dogs meant they'd be able to find a scent and follow them back. He called to Dixie and Trevor to head away from the homestead, but they couldn’t hear him as they were too busy enacting a sprint worthy of outrunning a deathclaw and he didn’t want to shout unless he drew too much attention their way.

They stopped after fifteen minutes to catch their breath.

"We can't go back to the homestead," MacCready said. "The dogs."

"Fuck that, I'm going back. We got turrets and gates and we’re stocked up on armor and ammo, double the amount we ever had at Basket Hill. They're not mutants, we can--"

"We gotta go back, RJ," Dixie added. "If they are Gunners, mercenaries, why would it be any more dangerous than ghouls or mutants? What do you know about these Gunners?"

"I know they're organized, they're--” He shook his head. _Duncan._ He closed his eyes for a moment before conceding he needed to get back to his son. “Oh dammit. Okay let's go. I'll explain then." He pulled a flask from his hip and took a swig of water before handing it to Dixie.

He caught a glance between her and Trevor but neither said anything.

* * *

  
They returned to an easier half-sprint, half-walk for the rest of the journey back to the homestead. When they arrived, Abdul was at the guard post at the main gate.

"Ring the bell for everyone," Trevor said.

"What's going on?" he replied.

"Just ring it, Abdul," MacCready added, a hurried tone in his voice.

Abdul opened the gates and the four headed to the central courtyard. The bell made a deafening clang and MacCready placed his fingers in his ears as it rang throughout the homestead. Molly had installed some of these in Commonwealth settlements but he’d never been around when they’d been used.

When everyone was together, Duncan came running and hugged at his legs. “Papa, what’s going on?”

“It’s okay, Duncan,” he said and patted the boy’s head.

Dixie glanced around the group. "Where's Tully, Gemma and David?"

"Down in the southern paddock planting," Carol replied. "What's this about?"

"Somebody bring ‘em in, we got shut down the homestead for little while," Dixie replied.

The settlers began to make worried sounds and murmuring amongst themselves about what to do. MacCready sensed the fear, and his own fears for the homestead were beginning mount.

Trevor looked to Abdul. "Those 'raiders' are mercenaries," he said.

"So?" Joseph stepped out away from the gaggle of kids around him. “It’s not like we haven’t dealt with them before, there were Talons around less than a four months ago.”

"Not just mercenaries, Gunners,” MacCready added. “And they spotted us and are likely on their way here right now.”

A worried crease in Stephi's brow appeared. "I've only briefly heard of them, are they like the Talon's?"

MacCready stood back from the group, he'd have to lay out for them what it meant. That chasing a bunch of chaotic disorganized raiders from Basket Hill was one thing, but Gunners? It would not be an easy task, and if their hierarchy decided Basket Hill was a good base of operations, good luck to ever removing them from the place.

MacCready could see the worried look in Stephi’s face so he grabbed Stephi's free hand as she nestled her baby close in a sling. "Different, but the same." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reliving his naivety on joining. As a cocky shithead sixteen year old, he recalled thinking that joining the Gunners would be the life he would live for a long time: caps, booze, and cigarettes. That notion was dashed on seeing the brutality around him, seeing the unneeded suffering of innocents, and realising that he saw love in the eyes of a friend. "The main difference with the Gunners that I know is they're far better organized, they've got better and more advanced weapons, and they move like a skilled military force. Like something you'd only read about. I've seen some Talon’s, they’re sloppy, the Gunners _never_ are."

Trevor moved forward. "How do you know how well armed they are? They could be a complete--"

MacCready interrupted. "Because-- because I used to be one of them.”

A ripple went through the group and he stood back to watch the faces around him react. Most look scared, a few appeared confused.

“What’s a Gunner, Papa?” Duncan asked.

He patted the boy's shoulder. “A sort of soldier.”

"You were never a--" Abdul said.

"You don't have the tattoo," Dixie added.

“I like soldier’s Papa,” Duncan’s small voice was drowned out by the adults talking. MacCready glanced down at Duncan towards the children standing near Joseph, nervous eyes all on him, wary that he was imparting information he kept secret for so long. "It was before I came here, before Duncan.”

"Did Lucy know? Did anybody know?" Joseph asked.

"Red knew, but that's it. Lucy didn't, I quit and there was no need to tell her. There was no reason to tell anyone."

One of the older homesteaders, Sadie from Basket Hill, began to cry. "We'll never get Basket Hill back, we'll never be able to go home." Several others gathered around to comfort her.

"I'm not saying that, but if you do, it's gonna be a fight." He felt a measure of guilt about alerting the Gunners to their presence, but he knew one way or another with them that close they’d likely come here eventually.

More fearful murmurs rose from the group.

"Where are you precious Minutemen? You were right about one thing, we can't wait, what if they come here? Shit," Trevor said and shook his head.

MacCready pinched his lips together and spoke through a clenched jaw. "Look, we received the letter only yesterday, I'm sure the Minutemen aren’t far behind. I'm as frustrated as the rest of you, but we can't magic them here." In all honesty he thought even if they were here, he wasn't sure how much influence they'd have on the current situation, maybe a little, maybe a lot.

Izzy gurgled and Stephi ran her hand over the baby’s head "What are we going to do then?" she asked in a fearful tone.

Carol stepped forward. "We fortify, we hunker down, we make sure we have working turrets, and we maintain a double watch-- for now. Isn't that right, Abdul?"

Abdul looked to Carol. "Yeah, that's what we do. Until we can think of something else, they might not even come this way. But if they do, we gotta be ready." He walked around the group. "Dixie, Gaby-- make sure our turrets are okay. Aiden and David, check the rosters for the guard posts. Alainia, walk the perimeter on the inside, and Trevor, the outside, and if there are any issues get a detail on it. The rest of you, food and water and anything else that we need, make sure we can stockpile it in the barn." He pointed to MacCready. "With me."

The group dispersed and MacCready followed Abdul inside the meeting hall.

"What can we expect, RJ?" Abdul said and rubbed his chin.

"I honestly don't know. Depends why they're there at Basket Hill. And like Carol said, all we can do is hunker down, hope the Minutemen get here sooner rather than later."

Abdul sighed and sat down on one of the chairs. "I guess we wait and see what happens then.” He shook his head. “This just keeps getting worse. Now I got Izzy to think about. Why would anyone want to bring a child into this fucking world, RJ?"

MacCready sat down next to him. "Did you have a choice?"

"Could have not had sex." He glanced at MacCready and they both let out a loud chuckle.

MacCready leaned forward. "We need to prepare for this, Abdul. If they fight, even if we outnumber them--"

"RJ, we've got a stockpile."

The line between MacCready's brows deepened. "Of what?"

"Guns, other weapons, ammo, grenades and traps, supplies. Mostly stuff meant for emergencies."

"What? Where? Those reserves in the barn you mean?"

"No, it's not here. It's in a bunker about two miles west of here. We only just filled it after the last Super Mutant attack. Basket Hill has a similar thing, although we've been taking things from it so ours is better stockpiled."

MacCready sighed and his shoulders dropped at the thought they wouldn't take him into their confidence about this. He’d been back a while, but at times he felt like a stranger, given all the new people at the homestead, perhaps they held back with good reasoning. "I guess I wouldn't trust me either," he mumbled.

Abdul grimaced. "Hey. In all honesty it just never came up. It's not a matter of trust." He paused for a moment before he turned towards him. "Do you know how relieved we all were to see you back, RJ?"

MacCready stared into Abdul's dark eyes, his friends face sagged from fatigue, the joy of being a new father still playing havoc with sleep and his emotions, something he knew well. Yet here he was, still shouldering the responsibility of community. If he had to do both, he'd be sure he would appear just as drained. A sudden pang of guilt hit him-- here he was questioning the trust they placed in him, he should know better. If Molly had taught him anything it was perhaps not to judge too harshly the motivations of others. They had nursed his son, they weren't strangers.

"Well Stephi said--“ he stopped and shook his head.

"Those here who knew you from before-- it was as though the prodigal son had returned. And me? Well, this leadership business isn't all it's cracked up to be, I’m grateful to have you around."

MacCready bowed his head and chastised himself again for his previous thoughts. "You're doing a good job, Abdul. You know what needs to be done."

Abdul picked up his gun, pushing the butt into a crack in the floor. "Yeah, I do. I just don't want any more of our people to die or get hurt."

Macready shook his head and wanted to say ‘They won’t’ but he could never give that assurance, not knowing the Gunners as he did.

"We can't sit around anymore.” Abdul motioned for the door. “I could do with a hand taking an inventory of what we do have."

"Let's go do it, then," MacCready replied.

* * *

  
They didn't have to wait long for two Gunner mercenaries to arrive at the homestead gates.

Trevor, who'd been hanging around the main gate like a nervous pack animal, ran to Abdul and MacCready who were busy taking stock of what ammo and weapons they had accumulated closer to home.

"What do we do, Abdul? Do we let them in? They say they want to talk. Fuckers."

MacCready knew all to well what ‘talk’ meant to the Gunners, it meant sizing up the enemy, looking for strengths and weaknesses. It meant pretending you were all about compromise. “We need to be cautious,” he said to Abdul.

Abdul nodded in agreement. "Tell them to leave their weapons outside the settlement. If they don't agree they can't come in. We’ll have to ‘talk’ through the gate. If they do, you and Dixie 'escort' our guests to the meeting hall. We'll come and have a nice cosy chat with them."

Trevor nodded and ran back to towards the gate.

Abdul shook his head. "RJ, what mess have we got ourselves into? I guess it's crunch time."

“It certainly is,” MacCready said, “I didn’t want to say too much earlier, Abdul, given how everyone here was so nervous. But’ we’re past that point now.” He had to lay it out for them, this might not be good. "Not your fault Abdul, or anyone here. The Gunners are -- the Gunners I thought were okay. Just a bunch of mercs doing a job, getting paid and trying to eek out a living like everyone else. But I learned differently." His gut churned. The last time he confronted a bunch of Gunners he'd killed most of them, with Molly's help, and even though this group of Gunners wouldn’t know that, he still had to hold down the anxiety that they might suspect him of the downfall of their little enclave at the Mass Pike Interchange. "Let's go see what they want. If-- they happily give up their weapons."

When Abdul and MacCready walked towards the meeting hall, they could see Trevor and Dixie standing outside pointing their guns at the two men. A dog sat nonplussed at their feet.

Trevor walked over to them before they got close. "They refused to go inside; they want to do this in the open."

They two men were large, broad shouldered and both had short-cropped hair. One of them had dark hair and remnants of a beard as well as tattoos all over his arms and up his neck. The other was fair, with a thick neck and a large scar that puckered his lip. He leered at Dixie, who stood to one side, dressed with a bigger sneer on her face than Trevor had worn. MacCready wondered how these men would take to nicknames like Tatts and Blondie.

Tatts turned and addressed his attention to Abdul. MacCready stood back just behind him, his gun rested across over his shoulder but ready to use in an instant if required. "You the boss?" The mercenary's voice oddly lyrical and out of step with his size. He sounded as though he came from down south and MacCready noted one of the tattoos on his arm was a large alligator, something he'd only ever seen in books.

Abdul looked to Trevor and Dixie. "Of sorts."

"Well, 'of sorts' what were your people doing spying on our settlement?"

MacCready grabbed Trevor by the sleeve as he attempted to push past him and Abdul. "It's not your fucking settlement you fucking bas--" Trevor said.

The two mercenaries laughed. "Looked empty to me," Tatts said.

"Aside from dead bodies I'm guessing," Dixie sniffed derisively.

Blondie snorted a laugh and elbowed the other. "Oh yeah, forgot about those." He turned back to Dixie and raised his brows suggestively, then winked at her. "Don't worry, sweet cheeks, we dealt with them. Smells much prettier now."

Dixie leaned back, her mouth curled in revulsion. MacCready felt Trevor try to move forward again but he pulled him back harder.

"Look, I'm trying to be reasonable here, Basket Hill was our settlement-- our sister settlement, some of our settlers here were chased out by mutants, several more killed. The remaining settlers want to return." Abdul pointed his gun down putting a hand out to urge the others to do the same. "We don't want any trouble, we just want to live our lives as peacefully as we can, without having the rug pulled from under us."

Tatts tilted his head and gave a cold smile. "Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. You give us half your crops and we leave you alone."

"What the fuck--" Dixie moved forward and appeared as though she was ready clobber him over the head with her gun.

MacCready felt his body tense with Dixie’s reaction, and he held his gun a little tighter. He knew she wasn’t a hothead, unlike Trevor who appeared to be bouncing on his toes in an agitated state.

Abdul put out a second placating gesture with his hand and spoke firmly. "Dixie-- don't."

Blondie licked his lips. "Dixie, hey? We could come to some other arrangement of course."

Tatts sniggered and crossed his arms across his chest.

Dixie flinched and shook her head. "Over my dead body," she replied.

"Not my thing sweet cheeks, but that's not to say there isn't someone amongst us who wouldn't complain," Blondie replied.

"We can't give you half our crops," Abdul said. "We can barely support our settlement as is, without Basket Hill."

"Perhaps you should leave then," Blondie said. "And-- leave a few things behind of course." He nodded towards Dixie.

MacCready couldn't hold Trevor back and he stepped between him and Abdul. "You gonna make us?" Trevor replied.

Tatts unfolded his arms and his fists were clenched. The dog at his heel sat up and started to growl. "If we have to, yes."

Trevor stepped forward and kicked the growling dog out of the way. His movement was fast and MacCready pulled his gun up high and towards the tattooed mercenary, but realized he could do nothing to stop Trevor's next move, which was to ram the butt of his gun into the mercenary's tattooed neck. Trevor pulled the gun back a second time and hammered it hard on to his head. Tatts dropped to his knees a dazed look on his face. His eyes closed and he fell forward onto the soft ground.

MacCready’s eyes were on Tatts and didn’t see Blondie reach forward and attempt to grab Dixie's gun. When that failed and the gun dropped to the ground, Blondie grabbed her wrist and yanked her in close.

The dog was barking loudly and growling before it launched itself onto Trevor's leg but he lashed backwards and kicked the animal square in the guts. The dog recoiled with a yelp running off as Trevor aimed his gun and attempted to shoot it. It scampered toward the gate without another bark, running as fast as its legs could move. The sound of the missed shot echoed around the homestead.

MacCready, momentarily distracted by the dog attack and Trevor’s reaction, saw the flash of metal in Blondie's hand and watched helplessly as he stabbed Dixie twice in the side. She crumpled against him with a whimper. He moved deftly forward and placed the barrel of his sniper rifle to the mercenary's forehead.

His mouth went dry. It had been a long time since he killed someone this close. A spike of adrenaline hit him, his heart pounded in his chest and his breathing labored. He could hear the light breeze that blew around them and feel his muscles tighten like a spring coil.

Abdul reacted similarly, replicating MacCready’s stance and pointing his gun towards the mercenary.

"I suggest you drop the knife. I'm one of the best snipers in the fu-- Comm--in the Capital Wasteland." He felt Blondie twitch against the end of the barrel and another hit of adrenaline burst through his system. He felt his finger pulse on the trigger. "Just imagine what this beautiful gun and my skill at such close range can do. And if I miss,” he gave confident snort of laughter. “I have backup here, ready to blow your ugly mug back to the Commonwealth."

Blondie dropped the knife and Dixie crumpled to the ground, crawling over towards Abdul. He could hear the loud trample of boots behind him, several settlers shouting, but he didn’t take his eyes off Blondie.

The mercenary put his hands forward and MacCready stepped back but kept his weapon aimed high and his finger planted firmly on the trigger.

"You are going to regret this you, shit heads. We tossed up whether to let you all walk. Frank here said yeah, for a bit, see if you would give us something in return. Crops, a woman or two maybe. You are all fucking dead. Every last one of you." He spat on the ground.

The sound of a gunshot at close range was deafening, if you're not used to it. MacCready no longer flinched at the sound, he hadn't for many years, but his head turned rapidly to look at Trevor then back to Blondie who had doubled over with the blast that hit him in square in the chest from Trevor’s gun. He stood close enough to feel a light spatter of blood fall across his face like a fresh spring rain. There was a dull thud as Blondie hit the ground, then silence.

* * *

   
More settlers came running, and MacCready saw several brandishing guns and weapons. Joseph, who'd been keeping the children entertained in the schoolhouse, came out onto the porch followed by two of the older children. He whispered and pointed for them to go back inside before racing over to meeting hall. He looked at the two mercenaries lying on the ground. "What the hell? Are they both dead?"

MacCready knelt down besides Tatts and felt for a pulse. “This one’s alive.” He looked over to Blondie, blood seeped into the ground around him. “And he’s definitely not.” He shook his head in exasperation, he knew this would not end well.

Gaby, who'd been walking the perimeter, bolted towards them, having sighted Dixie lying on the ground. Trevor had her cradled in his arms after he dropped his gun at the feet of the dead mercenary.

Dixie smiled up at Trevor and laughed. "If I don't die I’m gonna kill you, Trev."

Gaby pushed Trevor aside. "Dixie Featherstone, you fucking idiot," she said, and ripped at Dixie's shirt to get a better glimpse at the wound.

All of the settlers except for the children were currently gathered around the group.

MacCready could see that Dixie was bleeding heavily from the stab wounds. He’d seen worse, but still it looked bad and he feared for the tenacious settler.

Trevor stood back. His face was ashen as he addressed Gaby. "Is she going to be okay?"

"If the wounds aren't too deep or affecting any organs. At this moment we need to stop the bleeding and make sure she doesn't go into shock." She glanced up at Dixie, who still had a smile on her face and appeared calm. "You fucking idiot," she said again.

"Hey, wasn't my fault," she laughed and then winced.

Gaby motioned for David to help her. "Alaina, go get my medkit, the big one under the kitchen bench," she said as they moved Dixie inside the hall.

Joseph turned to Abdul. “What are we gonna do now?”

"Shit, shit. Didn't expect this to happen," Abdul replied.

"If that dog gets back to the rest of the Gunners, then they'll be hot footing it back to here," MacCready said. He knew they would come here when Tatts and Blondie didn’t return, and he knew when they saw Blondie it would be wholesale slaughter, no settler would be safe, not even the children. He felt bile rise in his throat at the memories of brutality he had witnessed, to see that again here-- no, he wouldn’t let that happen, even if had to kill every last Gunner himself. "We need to leave-- we have three hours at the most."

Abdul jerked his head back. "What do you mean, leave?"

"I mean evacuate. You heard them, they're gonna kill everyone."

"We stay and fight. It was just empty threats," Trevor said.

MacCready wanted to smack Trevor across the face, tell him to shut the fuck up. How the hell could he say that after what just happened, after what they said they’d do. He’d have done it too, if it wasn’t for the worried faces and exclamations of the settlers standing around.

Murmurs grew into loud voices.

"Hey, hey, everyone calm down," Abdul said, his voice had hint of nervousness in it.

"RJ, what are you talking about?" Joseph asked.

“Everybody, shut the hell up,” MacCready shouted. When the group became quiet he lowered the pitch of his voice and stood calm and steady. He looked pointedly at Trevor. "No, they weren't empty threats. These mercenaries are ruthless, I know, if they say they considered massacring the people here, you don't honestly think they won't after you killed one of their own?"

Trevor looked down and away from MacCready’s accusatory stare.

"We go to Big Town." Joseph said.

Abdul shook his head. "That road’s crammed with Talons and Brotherhood Soldiers fighting it out. That's not including the huge group of Raiders set up at Kaelyn's Bed and Breakfast. Hard to sneak more than twenty people past all that without trouble."

"If we're slowed down, they'd easily track us there. We have to go -- elsewhere," MacCready added.

Abdul turned to MacCready. "How much further do we need to go? We have older people and kids." He glanced towards Carol who was standing nearby.

Carol huffed. "Speak for yourself, I'll do just fine."

"We don't have enough caps to go somewhere like Megaton, it’s too far anyway," Abdul added. “Not with all these people. And what about Dixie? And this guy?” He kicked at Tatts legs.

MacCready stood for a moment, rubbed his forehead and gave a quiet laugh. There was one choice and he couldn’t believe he was about to suggest it. "There's one place we can go. It's off the beaten track. It's no further than going to Big Town, it's just in the opposite direction." He dug his heel in the dirt. "It doesn't get much traffic and it's safe, I know." He looked to Joseph. "And we know the way."

Joseph's mouth opened and shut before he let out an astonished laugh. "You gotta be kidding, RJ. There's no way in hell they'd let us in."

"They don't have to let us in. Even where it's placed is safer than anywhere else. We'll go there, get our more-- valuable settlers--" He looked at Carol, who laughed and nodded politely. "--set up. Then a group of us-- we'll come back, we'll grab every single weapon, ammo, grenade, and armor we can carry from here and our little stash down the road and hit them before they hit us. If we let them destroy us then what's to stop them doing it to more settlements?"

Abdul scratched his head. "You're right, yeah we gotta fight, and like you said we need to prepare, and we can't do that here, this fight has to be on our terms. If we have a choice between that or being dead, I know what I'd be suggesting." He gave a loud sigh. "What about the Minutemen? What if they come?"

"Pray to whatever deity you like, and ask they come in time to give us a hand then." MacCready hoped they would get here before the fight, it would certainly give them more of chance, but if the roads were as full of conflict as Abdul suggested, they could be delayed, if they made it at all.

"Where is this place?" Stephi asked. She'd stood amongst the worried faces of the rest of the settlers, baby Izzy cooing quietly in her arms.

MacCready scratched his jaw and snorted a laugh. "My previous home." He traced a finger down Izzy’s bare arm. ”And you’d be most welcome, little one.”

"Where's that?"

“Little Lamplight."


	9. Negotiations - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's attempts at negotiating a deal with with the Brotherhood of Steel come to fruition, giving her the one thing that had eluded her in the Wasteland for some time-- a sense of control about her future. However, a trip back to The Institute changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those people still following this fic. Real life kind of came and kicked me in the backside in the last half of 2016 and as a consequence this was shelved for a couple of months. I hope to be on track to finishing this soon so thankyou all for your patience and your continued patronage of this fic! And thanks once again to [Thievinghippo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo) for the beta and for being a great support to my creative endeavours.
> 
> I'd also like to thank [Synthgorillas](http://synthgorillas.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for allowing me to use her OC's Doris Silva (sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel) and Elaine Bryce (scribe with the Brotherhood of Steel) for part of this chapter! I had a lot of fun with them and with Molly's interaction with the BoS in general!

_The midsummer sun fell across a field of grass, pollen from seed heads rising and shining against a backdrop of dappled late afternoon light. In the distance, Molly watched a man walk towards her. He wore a plain white t-shirt and black shorts with a three-day beard growth across his rough features. She ran a hand across her expanding waistline; the silken fabric of blue shimmered in the failing sunlight. She put her hand up and called to him, no audible sound came, but her mouth opened and closed just the same. In the background there was a flash of light. Molly screamed, but again there was no sound. The cloud rose and raced towards them--_

Molly woke with a start. Having sat down on a nearby couch and closed her eyes, she'd fallen asleep even though it was only midday. She put her hands over her face and let out a sigh. It was the first time she had dreamed of Nate in a long time and and it set up a feeling of agitation, one she had far too many times since leaving  the vault.

She stood and walked over to her desk in the Minuteman office, currently on the first floor of the new Settler's Hall. She and Preston had already spoken about moving the office to another building entirely, it was getting crowded in here and if they moved to one of the abandoned houses not yet refurbished they could set up some beds and a meeting room. Settler’s Hall in the meantime would have to do, even though a pool table had mysteriously made its way onto the second floor and cutting into the already cramped space. The background murmur of people below was ever present and acted as white noise. With more settlers arriving each day in Sanctuary and in the five days she'd been back, it was difficult to find a quiet space. Thirty two settlers called Sanctuary their home on last count.

Molly had negotiated for the Railroad to be less aggressive towards the Brotherhood of Steel, until all this business with the Institute was sorted. They had wanted to play multiple hands, blowing up the Brotherhood's airship at the same time. Molly thought it prudent to be measured given they were still deciding how to handle the liberation of many of the synths, and she was convinced the Institute could be handled a different way, maybe a peaceful resolution even. How that would happen she wasn’t sure. Until she did, she hoped a letter and a meeting with the Brotherhood’s leader Elder Maxson would have the same cooling effect as it had on the Railroad. However, she’d sent the letter six days ago and she couldn't wait for their reply any longer. Months away from the Institute meant not having to deal with her feelings about Shaun, but the Railroad was becoming impatient and when a note had come from Shaun himself, delivered by a courser asking when she would return; it meant no more delays.

There would be no time for letters to MacCready whilst she was away either so she began to pen one last one before she departed. Since her return, she’d had time to reread his letters, and with several more since his last call for help, she had a sense of what was happening at the homestead. The Capital Wasteland appeared in turmoil, the Brotherhood fighting with whoever opposed them, leaving the few established settlements in disarray-- many of them caught in crossfire as 'collateral damage'. There’d also been a rise in super mutant and feral ghoul attacks, not to mention the real trouble coming from roads blocked by raiders fighting Brotherhood soldiers.

The one positive news she'd received was that his reunion with Duncan was going well. And despite the fighting and trouble, that knowledge put her at ease. Her own reunion with Shaun played on her mind constantly, and it gave her a sense of peace to know that their time together had ultimately been full of laughter and love. He told her that she'd been right to send him back. Molly gave a sad smile, knowing that yes, he was with Duncan, but that fact might part them forever.

It had been two weeks since she wrote her last letter to MacCready, her mind had been full of everything needing done and even in moments when she could have sat down, she didn’t. It was time for another letter to him, she wouldn't mention her health, and there was no need for him to worry about her when he had his hands full with his own business at the homestead. Besides, she was fine, and a visit to the Institute Doctor would surely confirm it was just a persistent stomach bug. Molly stopped for a moment and stared at the wall, the dream she had earlier returned and she pushed it back down before setting pen to paper. Before she managed to even address the letter, a commotion made her stand and move to the window. She looked in the direction of the Sanctuary Hill's bridge.

Preston came bounding up the stairs behind her and she turned to face him a worried frown across her face.

"You're not gonna believe this, General," he said out of breath.

"What is it, Preston?" The tone in her voice was nervous, another attack was all she needed right now. She turned back toward the road and the bridge tilting her head to try and see what was going on.

He smiled and made a motion for her to follow. "I think an invitation to afternoon tea just arrived."

Molly knew instantly that it was the Brotherhood, a cheeky reference by Preston about her intentions. MacCready’s letter would have to wait and if the Brotherhood had arrived it would be unwelcoming for her not to offer tea. She grabbed her jacket and hat and followed him down the stairs and towards the bridge. Over the crest, she could make out the diminutive figure of a Brotherhood of Steel field scribe flanked by two soldiers in power armor. They stopped and spoke with the settler operating the guard tower who in turn pointed towards where Molly and Preston stood.

The soldiers walked towards them and stopped. The scribe was much shorter than Molly, and wore glasses. A strand of loose hair fell across her young face.

The field scribe stepped forward and offered her hand. "General Gould, I'm Scribe Bryce. I'm here to ask you to accompany me back to the Prydwen for, um, err, discussions." The young woman’s shoulders appeared to sag and her voice sounded hesitant.

Molly took the scribe's hand in hers and shook. "Afternoon tea, then?"

The young woman's scratched her temple and a frown came to her lips. "Uh-- sorry-- afternoon tea?"

"It doesn't matter, Scribe Bryce. It's nothing," she replied. "May my second in command come too?" She gestured towards Preston.

"Of course." Bryce made to turn but then turned back and pointed to Preston's gun currently slung over his back. "Ahh, General. You won't need those."

Molly turned to look at Preston, his eyes narrowed and she noticed him clutch the handle of his gun tighter. She pursed her lips before turning back to Bryce. "Safety guaranteed?" If the Brotherhood were as ‘honorable’ as they proclaimed to the settlers, she’d have nothing to fear, despite her dislike of guns in general, she had begun to feel naked without one.

Bryce's gaze shifted and she glanced off to the side, giving her and Preston a nervous smile. "Of--of course, General. You are our guest and your ability to feel safe in our presence is of high concern-- to us, yes, high."

Others might have taken Bryce's nervous tic as an attempt to hide a lie, but  Molly's law experience told her it was merely a nervous excitement, the scribe appeared to be bouncing on her toes. Molly nodded. "Very well." She motioned for one of the nearby Minutemen to take her and Preston's weapons and they followed the Brotherhood soldiers back over Sanctuary's bridge.

Another soldier in field scribe armor helped her and Preston into the back of the Vertibird. The strap pulled tight across her midriff and she winced as it pinched her shoulder, the one she had dislocated some time ago.

"Have you ever been in a Vertibird before, General?" Bryce asked.

She gave Bryce a sad smile. "Not a Vertibird, but something like it. A long time ago."

The Vertibird rose, creating a cloud of dust in its wake, and headed in the direction of Boston’s Airport.

Molly had a clear view of the city, and even though she'd seen it from various rooftops, this was different, this was more than a panorama. Her heart leapt into her mouth at the vista before her, and a growing sickness hit the pit of her stomach.

"Everything all right?" Preston asked and laid his hand on Molly's arm.

"I've never seen it like this before. I've been on top of tall buildings, but this-- so different." There was a sad ache in her voice when she spoke.

Preston gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "If it helps, it’s all I've ever known."

She gave him a sad smile then huffed out a small nervous laugh. "I forget for a moment that’s all."

"General--" Bryce said.

Molly cocked her ear towards the scribe. "Yes?"

"Do you mind if I ask a question?”

“Of course not.”

“They say you lived before the war. What was it like? Boston that is. And the Commonwealth?" Bryce winced as if she regretted the question as soon as it came out.

Molly welcomed the distraction to her growing nausea.  She pointed to an area with a small lake and park just below. "I once flew over this spot, and you could see people sitting outside a small café-- what was a small café. That place was a regular spot where I'd dine with my family. You could do helicopter rides along the beachfront. The harbor views were spectacular. The roads-- pristine and well-kept even after a harrowing winter.” Molly recalled some of the worst roads were in the hills out of town, damaged by heavy chains on tires, but the city was something else no crumbling snow affected roads around here. “Boston was neat, ordered and busy. I don't know anywhere like that now. It used to be-- so very clean." She bit her lip when she realised that she did know of such a place. It was deep underground and she would return there soon.

The flight continued over the river and to the city proper. She pointed to a prominent bridge along the river. Heavy steel girders had collapsed on one side; the remaining bridge was dotted with rusted cars and buses. "We did a city walk once. Started there, on that bridge. We traced the boulevard down around to the city centre. Past Fenwa--” Molly stopped and laughed, another moment of forgetfulness catching her. “Past Diamond City, back around and through the Institute of Technology area.”

Bryce’s mouth fell open. “The Institute--”

One of Molly’s gloved fingers traced along her top lip and she observed the young woman, wide eyed before her, appearing startled. It seems the Brotherhood knew all too well about the Institute. She continued with her story. “The walk took all day, but we learned a little extra about the city. That was only one small tour. I wish I'd done more." Molly squinted as light from a skyscraper hit her eye and for a fraction of a moment, the building appeared untouched. However, on focussing, it was burned, broken and falling apart like every other skyscraper in the city. Molly's gaze searched below amongst the buildings, the roads, the plazas and beachfronts, for the familiar, for anything that might she might remember from when she last saw it from the air. There was nothing recognizable there now.

Bryce nodded towards the looming airship. "We're coming up on the Prydwen now, General.”

The Vertibird moved into position in the dock and a loud click and clanking noise indicated a safe mooring. The whir of the blades quieted and the Brotherhood soldiers unbuckled and assisted them onto the flight deck.

Several Brotherhood soldiers appeared to be hurriedly walking from one section to another and paid them scant attention.

Bryce motioned them up the stairs into a small area. "Down here, General. This is the way to the Bridge."

As they descended down the ladder, sounds of metal on metal echoed within the small space as soldiers in power armor stomped above them.

When they landed on the next deck, Molly could see two people standing at the front of the bridge, a woman and a man in a thick coat, ruffled at the neck. They both stood with their hands behind their backs looking ahead and only turned when Bryce came alongside. Molly could hear the tremble in her voice. "Elder Maxson, Sentinel Silva, General Gould is here." Compared with her superiors, Bryce looked tiny.

The first thing Molly noticed about Elder Maxson was the large scar that ran along the side of his face. It looked like it had been a deep cut. He held his head up and extended his hand. "Welcome to the Prydwen, General Gould." He turned towards the woman standing next to him. "This is Sentinel Silva."

Molly took her hand and nodded towards Preston. "This is Preston Garvey, my primary advisor and second in command."

Preston shook Maxson's and the Sentinel's hands.

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Elder, I know you and your soldiers are busy people," Molly said. She tried to hold in check the tremble to her voice, this would be harder than confronting Desdemona.

Maxson nodded but said nothing.

"We don't usually agree to see civilians, General," Silva said. "We were intrigued by you statement of 'sharing knowledge, as well as supplies'. However, as you may already know we are more than capable of negotiating our own supplies."

Molly pushed her shoulders back. Although she was not a short woman, she felt dwarfed by the Brotherhood hierarchy standing in front of her both almost a head taller. "You'll excuse me, but that's not what I've heard, Sentinel Silva."

Silva turned to look at Maxson tilting her head to one side. Maxson responded to the Sentinel with narrowing eyes and a tightening of lips under his wiry beard. "And what have you heard, General Gould?" he replied, his voice abrupt and deep.

Molly took a deep breath before speaking and once again tried to hold the tremble of her voice in check.  "That several of our settlements became a little hostile when you tried to negotiate with them. I think the words relayed back to me from one of them was that they told your soldiers to 'piss off back to their big metal flying dick'." She turned to Preston. "Let me get this right, it was Mary Donnell at Nordhagen Beach right, Preston?"

Preston appeared as though he was about to laugh but then coughed before nodding. "Yes, it was Mary."

Molly turned back to Maxson and Silva. "It seems that your attempts at negotiations didn't work in that instance. Nor at Bunker Hill, and-- I heard the dogs didn’t much care for your soldiers stomping around at County Crossing.” Not even the presence of the Prydwen so prominent in Nordhagen Beach’s skyline had made the settlers anxious and they had quickly related their annoyance to the Minutemen. “Our settlers don't really like to be threatened. They’ve lived hard lives, they’re holding on to what they’ve got."

"Hardly a threat, General. And, _your_  settlers?" Maxson said.

She nodded. "The Minutemen have allied with almost thirty settlements in the last twelve months. Actually make that six months. So yes, _our_  settlers, _our_ settlements."

"I see." Maxson's jaw looked to shift sideways before he spoke again. "So your offer of supplies means-- what exactly?"

Molly smiled. "Elder, as General, I can speak on behalf of the settlements. I've spoken to them all-- including Nordhagen Beach, and our more prosperous settlements, of which there are at least ten currently in supply surplus. I've negotiated to supply food for the Brotherhood. On your behalf of course. You’ll have to talk to individual settlements if you want medical supplies, their own needs, you must understand, are first priority in this instance." Molly had earned the trust of many within the settlements. Of course there were always going to be the sceptical few who didn’t think the Minutemen were up to the task, but those who recognised the Minutemen's worth were eager to contribute.

She could see a surprised smile behind Maxson's countenance but Sentinel Silva's brows furrowed. "I sense this is in exchange for something, General."

"You are correct, Sentinel Silva." Molly watched as frowns appeared over Maxson's and Silva's mouths. "However, you'll find that what we propose should be amenable to the Brotherhood's presence-- if the reason for you being here is what we think." Molly stopped hoping that one or the other would say something about why they were here, but neither spoke. "It would allay the fears of many if the settlers knew the reason for you being here in the Commonwealth--"

"That's strictly Brotherhood Business," Maxson interrupted before Molly could finish. "Suffice to say your settlers, if they are-- not abominations, then they have nothing to fear."

The interruption set Molly’s mouth tight. She’d met officious military types before, and Maxson was just that kind of man. She couldn’t question the man’s knowledge or loyalty for she knew nothing of what he personally knew, but it appeared that the Brotherhood didn’t value diplomacy high on the list. She knew this would be his answer, yet she couldn’t help still feel frustrated. "By abominations you mean super mutants, feral ghouls and--?"

"Mutants, ghouls and synthetic humans."

She tilted her head. "Ahh I see. Synths. And feral ghouls you mean of course." Molly wanted further clarification on the ghouls, knowing that the Brotherhood did not look favourably on ghoul citizens in general.

Before he could answer a loud stomping noise came from behind Molly, and she turned to see a soldier in power armor come from behind her. He had a handsome and worn face and looked familiar to her but she couldn't place him.

"Sorry for the interruption, Elder, but an important development."

Maxson took something from the soldier’s hand and nodded. "Paladin Danse, this is General Gould of the Commonwealth Minutemen."

Molly nodded to him then she recalled their previous meeting. "I remember you, Paladin, from the Police Station at Cambridge."

Danse’s eyes narrowed with recognition. "That's right-- General--" He paused as though not convinced by her status but continued. "You helped with the ghouls and you had-- _a synth_  with you." The word dripped with derision from Danse’s mouth.

Her brows rose and she gave a one sided smile and glanced towards Maxson. "Nick Valentine, Diamond City's most respected detective." She could see a sneer forming on Maxson’s face but she turned back to Danse. "I hope your problem is under control now."

"It is, General, thank you." He nodded curtly towards Maxson before departing.

Molly turned back to find both Maxson and Silva with their arms crossed defensively.

“What is it you want, General. In turn for these supplies?” he asked.

“Well, periodically my-- our settlements come under attack from mutants, feral ghouls, synths, and raiders too. It would be appreciated if the Brotherhood, when they are close to a settlement picking up supplies, they reach out to those in need. I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine kind of thing. Also--”

“Also?” Maxson tilted his head up expectantly.

“News from the Capital-- many have family there, an exchange of information, letters, about what’s going on-- oh and for your vertibirds to be available for emergency transports-- if needed. The settlers would be grateful. I would be grateful. And it is a mutual goal, yes? To get rid of these problems. Win the hearts and minds of the settlers so to speak.”

Maxson held his head as though in contemplation. "We are not couriers, General and our Vertibirds -- these are machines of war, not for-- what did they call it pre-war-- ‘joy rides’.”

Molly felt her jaw clench. “Transporting medical patients during an emergency or if under heavy attack is hardly ‘joy riding’, Elder. And-- I am not asking for you to play postman, merely exchange news and if you are delivering to the Capital you make it part of your general business to include the needs of our settlements.”

Maxson was silent and tapped his foot before giving a begrudging nod. “In these circumstances it sounds as fair an offer as possible."

Sentinel Silva cocked one eyebrow and gave an audible sigh.

"It would help people out, and they might not be so suspicious of your presence here," Molly added.

"We've told them many times that they have nothing to fear," Silva said with barely concealed disdain.

"Yes, but-- the other thing, you aren't as popular in some circles despite your statements about wanting to help the Commonwealth. The settlers are suspicious, and rightly so."

Maxson's eyes focused unblinking on Molly's. A cold blue color not far from the color of her own eyes, but in it she could see his youth, his spark, and determination.

"I would expect not all circles would appreciate us, but again I reiterate we have the best interests of the Commonwealth in mind, you can have all this with one qualifier." His gaze remained steely, but Molly too refused to blink.

"Elder, as long as that's the case, then you can count on the Minutemen as allies, and as negotiators between you and the-- settlers." Molly gave him an astute smile. "If needed, of course. And your ‘qualifier’?"

"Your local 'knowledge', General, would surely surpass our own, if your settlers have any information that they deem might be relevant to the Brotherhood, they tell us-- first.”

Molly took another deep breath, it was a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, but they hadn’t asked for her knowledge, just that of the settlers. “If they have knowledge. Yes of course.”  

“Well. We accept your offer and hope that our presence is no longer feared by your settlers." His mouth parted slightly and gave her a qualified smile. She guessed that he might have understood that she knew things that weren’t discussed openly that might affect the Brotherhood's presence here.

He turned to Silva, and Molly discerned a slight nod, before he turned back to her. "General, I wish to revisit this 'treaty' of sorts in the future, but, until then I think this will be advantageous to both the Brotherhood and especially to your Minutemen settlements."

"Thank you, Elder. I think will be a very-- beneficial arrangement." Molly hadn't talked like this since her law days, negotiating patents, and soothing temperaments of volatile litigants.

"Before you go, perhaps it best if you speak with our Quartermaster. Proctor Teagan. He'll give you all the information you need so you can relay that to your settlements."

“In turn, I can let him know the settlements that are most at risk. Oh and some of our Minutemen are currently travelling to the Capital. Maybe a message to your soldiers there? And news of their safe passage would be most appreciated."

"Yes, of course. We’ll see what we can do." He gave her a tight lipped smile and held out his hand.

She took his hand and felt the strength in his grip. "Sentinel Silva will take you to Teagan."

Molly felt the relief wash over her, to know that the Minutemen were not alone in Capital-- _she had to admit even if it was only to herself that knowledge that MacCready and his homestead were safe would be welcome too_.

They were escorted from the bridge to the Quartermasters at the rear of the airship. Proctor Teagan was all business, and for the most part appeared irritated but resigned. They finished business quickly.

Sentinel Silva gave them a curt nod and shook their hands before Bryce came to escort them back to the Vertibird.

"I hope everything went well, General," she said as they walked back along the flight deck.

"I think it went as I expected. Thank you, Scribe Bryce." Molly couldn’t help but emit a quiet elongated breath of relief in response to Bryce’s question.

Once seated and strapped in, Molly and Preston watched the Vertibird uncouple from the gantry of the flight deck. Further relief washed over her as the Vertibird left the Prydwen behind and followed the same route back along the coast.

On arrival back in Sanctuary, they alighted and watched the Vertibird ascend to start its journey back to the Prydwen. Preston turned to her. "Do you think they'll honor their side of this ‘treaty’, General?"

She took a deep breath. "I don't see why they won't."

"Do you think there’s a risk they'll see us as still that disorganized bunch of civilians?"

"Quite possibly, Preston. I think some of them would underestimate us. Of that I’m certain.” Molly crossed her arms as a breeze swept up from the river. “Do you remember ages ago, we had conversation about the Minutemen, about what they had that none of these other groups do?"

"After Quincy? How could I forget." He sighed and looked towards the dot of the Brotherhood's Vertibird now well on the horizon. "You said they say we lack the strength of the Brotherhood. The conviction of the Railroad. And– and the knowledge of The Institute. But we have one thing they don't, we have hope."

Molly nudged him in the side. "They can think what they like about us, but we know better."

"We certainly do, General."

They turned towards Settler’s Hall. "You know what, Preston?"

"What's that?"

"They didn't even offer us light refreshments. I could kill for a cup of tea right now."

Preston's laughter reverberated throughout the settlement.

* * *

 Molly looked around the room as Doctor Volkert appeared to fuss over the Institute's medical terminal. "Blasted things, never get used to them," he muttered. "Ah here it is."

She’d sat in so many sterile Doctor's rooms before the war, this felt far too familiar and for a brief second she panicked, remembering the dread that had washed over her with every word spoken to her. “I’m sorry Mrs. Gould.” “Maybe next time, Mrs. Gould.” “It’s a numbers game, Mrs. Gould.” The moment passed but she continued folding one hand over the other.

"Well, Molly. Your previous medical wasn't too bad for someone who'd spent almost 12 months on the surface. Radiation poisoning. Some impurities in the blood. Some mild gastric disturbances. Aside from that, you were in good shape. So what brings you back to me? More radiation sickness?"

She felt her mouth go dry and her muscles twitched. The nerves hit her stomach and she was thankful she’d not eaten much before coming. Doubt set in about it ‘being just a stomach ache’ and she looked sheepishly way, then back at the doctor. "I ah-- I-- Doctor Volkert, I’ve been feeling-- sick. Under the weather, it’s been kinda low level for a couple of months now. One of the Doctors on the surface said it could be a number of things-- my stomach feels bloated.”

“Let’s take a look at you, can you unbutton your shirt, please?”

Molly unzipped the Institute coveralls she currently wore and pulled them down to her waist to reveal a white t-shirt beneath. She then gave a long sigh as Volkert sat patiently in front of her. “I know that no contraception is one hundred percent effective, but for someone my age, with my history of _issues_ , is it possible that I could fall pregnant despite being diligent?"

Volkert sat back in his chair with a surprised look on his face and bit his lip. "Mmmm, you're not old, Molly. Women-- pre-war mind you-- were giving birth well into their fifties. Although fertility and conception still eluded doctors then for the most part. I mean stillbirth. Hardly any advances in knowledge around that in fifty years. Male infertility is still an issue. And the war, radiation, low birth rates-- yes, but despite all that you could still fall pregnant. Why do you ask?"

“Could this be--" The words coming from her mouth felt hard to articulate and it didn’t feel real, that to ask this was foolish. “Could I be pregnant? Or maybe it's just a tumor or cancer, or a million other things." She realised before she finished how silly it would to sound to say ‘just a tumor’ and sighed.

A quizzical look passed across his face. "You've been sexually active then?"

"Well, yes. But not for three months."

"I see. You were taking contraceptive precautions though?"

"Yes. I've been taking a stim from a doctor in Diamond City. Well, as much a doctor as any on the surface." Molly gave him a weak smile. "It's infused with contraceptive meds. I assume a form of synthetic progesterone or something. It's worked for the most part."

Volkert rubbed a finger across his top lip. "’It's worked for the most part’. Oh dear, I've heard that one before. But, mmm, yes, mmm--”

She frowned and swallowed. "What--what is it, Doctor?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure, but it's quite possible--” He turned back to the terminal, typed something into the keyboard and hummed before he turned back to her. “My report says I gave you our new stim."

"What-- what does that mean? What would that have done?"

"The stims are meant not only to cure radiation and general sickness, but remove impurities in the system. Synthetic progesterone would have been targeted, especially if it was produced on the surface in less than sterile conditions. If you are pregnant, that may be to blame." His face was strained and apologetic.

Molly bowed her head and her bottom lip began to tremble. “Damn. Doctor, even if-- I didn't even think, and I wasn't careful." She had convinced herself it couldn't be a pregnancy, but if she was-- her hands folded over one another again, clammy and cold. When she looked up at Volkert the tremble hit her whole body and her thoughts steered to MacCready. They say distance means so little when someone means so much, but right at this instant, it didn’t feel like he was four hundred miles away, but four thousand.

Volkert leaned forward laying a hand on her shaky arm. "Let's not jump the gun, Molly, let’s just see if you are first." He stood and retrieved a tray with a syringe. “Some bloods first.” Volkert tied the tourniquet around her arm and she looked away as she felt the tiny prick of the needle. She turned back to see blood spilling into the syringe barrel. He placed a tissue over the exit wound. "Here, hold. You look like a good bleeder." He gave her a reassuring smile. It was obvious he was trying to relax her but given her previous doctor experiences in this area, it would be a hard ask of even a Clown Doctor. Her stomach churned.

He injected the blood into several tubes and turned back to Molly. "The blood work will give us a whole range of information, but for an instant answer--" He handed her a small plastic jar with a lid. "I think you know what to do."

She took the jar from his hand and walked to the bathroom, pulling her jumpsuit and underwear down as she sat. She shook her head and unscrewed the cap of the jar resting it on her bare leg. She looked up unfocused into the light above and blinked as the jar filled. “One more thing, just to fuck me over a little bit more. What more have you got in store for me, Wasteland? When I wanted this to happen, where were you then, hey?” If the world was truly just and kind it would be negative like it had been so many times before. What if she was pregnant? What would she do? She couldn't raise a child in the Wasteland. Could she? What would MacCready think? She capped the jar and placed it on the ground as she pulled paper from the roll then pulled her coveralls back up.

When she returned, he took the solution over to a small bench scattered with vials and jars. The test would take mere minutes to process, but Molly knew from experience they would be a long three minutes. She sighed. They had barely touched on the issue of pregnancy since they first began their little 'arrangement,' Suffice to say she remembered saying she didn't want some asshole’s baby. She was convinced there was no way she'd be able to fall pregnant anyway given all the problems her and Nate had encountered, and she'd implemented as much strict prevention as she could; contraception in the shape of a stim, two hundred year old condoms, even. She'd even tried to practice a form of natural contraception, but that was difficult given how the stim appeared to interfere with her cycle. If she was pregnant it had to be that treatment last time she was here. That meant her first weeks back on the surface she was wholly unprotected.

In her grief she hadn't cared about being cautious, she’d wanted MacCready close, she needed it, and she deserved it. She ran a hand across her brow and then folded it into her lap with her other hand, interlacing the fingers tight. She had even chastised MacCready many times before for being careless and for the most part he'd listened to her-- the threat of no sex having more impact than she thought it would. However, they’d been like teenagers, unable to stop and it made her feel whole again after her emotions had been broken into so many pieces. Like her favorite teapot, it would never be the same as before, but it was solid and it was real. She had survived everything the Wasteland had thrown at her. If she was pregnant she’d deal with it, she’d have no choice.

She sat upright as Doctor Volkert walked back over to her and sat down. "Well, Molly, it appears you are indeed, pregnant."

Molly sighed and ran her hands down over her face. "I was so careful," she mumbled. "So careful. I had so few symptoms. I was so sure--" A thousand things raced through her mind and she failed to grasp a single coherent thought.

"Every pregnancy is different." Volkert tilted his head. "What will you do?"

She shook her head. "What can I do?"

"If you choose to keep the pregnancy, the Institute is a good a place as any. I bought my son up here. If you choose to end the pregnancy, we should move fast given how many weeks you've indicated you may be."

Molly sat upright. "Termination?"

"Yes, if that's what you wish. We have the chemical means to do so. We can do it right now if you like. We don't even need to wait for the blood test results to come back. We can't wait too long though. We have many advances in the areas of obstetrics and gynaecology, but the longer you wait, chemical abortion will need to be followed with more intrusive procedures."

She found herself staring at the floor. There would be no time to consult MacCready, the decision would be hers alone. "How long will the blood tests take?"

"Less than a day. But--"

"But?"

"No matter your choice, Father will need to be told. Its Institute procedure I'm afraid."

Molly tilted her head. “Why would he need to know?” she asked.

“We keep a tight account of pregnancies and births here, it's been that way for at least the last hundred years. It happened after an influx of new scientists and researchers recruited from the surface. We just haven’t the room to accommodate growing families.”

It appeared that the Institute keeps a tight rein on everything that happened underground, she could understand that to a degree, but it felt too much like-- eugenics for her to be comfortable with it. Where did the families go who no longer fit in with The Institute’s workings? She fidgeted in her seat. "I'll tell him myself." Her answer was swift and Volkert appeared surprised.

"Very well." Volkert adjusted himself awkwardly in his seat. "I can get the results back by nine pm this evening, if you care to return after, or we can do it tomorrow morning, leave you some time to process things a little."

"Thank you, Doctor, I'll go speak with Shau-- with Father now. He said he had something urgent to discuss with me. It’s a good a time as any." She stood, then paused for a moment. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

* * *

 "How long do you have?" Molly asked. This was more than she could take in one sitting. Her hand covered her mouth as she took stock of her state of mind.

"Months, weeks, days. Who knows. Which is why I'm so glad to have you here." Shaun smiled and laid a hand on Molly's arm. "And for whatever you choose, the Institute is a good, safe environment should you decide to keep the pregnancy. There have been many children born here. It's a good place."

Molly's eyes widened. _A good place for children._  Objectively maybe, but she felt sceptical of its implementation, she’d observed only a few children here underground-- one of them synth Shaun. Yes, the place was clean, they could live knowing that they're safe from radiation and all the terrible things that happen on the surface, but the overwhelming sense of sadness about her situation-- about Shaun, about this place and what it did, corrupted any positive thoughts she could have. Her son was a stranger. If it weren’t for his eyes, she'd not recognise anything about him at all.

"There's another thing I want to ask. I've-- This might seem a little premature but I’ve nominated you as director. To replace me."

Molly's eyes squinted in confusion before it dawned on her what he was proposing-- not even proposing, it sounded like he had already mandated it. "You can't be serious? Director? I’ve only just arrived here. And I haven't been a scientist for many years; I'm a stranger to most people here, and a stranger that still hasn't developed any level of trust with them."

"You don’t need to be a scientist. And I trust you. That's all the matters."

Molly stood and began to pace. _Trust_. That word fell too easily from his mouth and despite all that went before, she thought it sounded like-- like her. “Shaun, you don't know what you’re asking."

"If it’s about your pregnancy, if you choose to--"

She shook her head resolutely. "No, no it's not that at all."

"What is it then? You can bring your partner of course. Your family, you can bring whoever you feel would be comfortable here."

"Shaun, none of the people here will agree to me being director. Can't you see that?"

"They will. They'll get used to the idea." He gave her a wide smile. "I know it's a lot to ask in such a short space of time. Nevertheless, the information you've bought back, the help you've given us, it's been invaluable. We haven't had that for so long. They'll see reason."

Molly gave an incredulous laugh. "Reason? Reason is to appoint someone who has been at the Institute for a lot longer than me. Someone who knows the inner workings; knows how to make sure everything runs smoothly. I am not that person, Shaun."

His brow furrowed. "I think you're the perfect person. I've seen you handle yourself with the Minutemen. You're more than capable. Do you not think so?"

She gave a small snort. Everything that Molly thought good in the The Institute, the people, the dedication the ideas and advancements was counteracted with everything that was an anathema to her; the replacement of citizens on the surface, the tightly held advances in technology-- including medical and military and the fact they had their own ‘recovery’ department to hunt down synths wishing autonomy once they escaped. Molly didn’t want want to be the director. Not now, not ever. “No,” she said and shook her head.

Shaun bowed his head and bit his lip. "I see. Perhaps a few--"

"No," she said more forcefully this time. "I don't need a few anything, minutes, hours, days."

"Mother, you've been given some news-- and now this, my sickness, your pregnancy, it's a lot to digest. Can I at least ask you to think about it? Talk to some more people. You'll see that they will open their arms to you."

Molly sat and rubbed her jaw with a balled fist. She swallowed hard. He was right about one thing, this was a lot to digest. "Shaun, how long did you know about me-- where I was, that I was still alive?"

He blinked and took a deep breath. "I was told at seventeen. Why?"

he corners of her mouth dipped and tears begin to well. Her hands folded in her lap. "So about forty years, then. Why now contact me, because you're dying? Is that it? Some sort of regret about leaving me there for so long? Is this directorship supposed to be some sort of-- compensation?"

Shaun stiffened and stood. "No, of course not, Mother. You've shown me a different perspective on how things can be done, I thought about you-- and Father a lot. Maybe I have some regrets, yes, but one doesn't go through life without them. I know that much."

"You're a grown man, Shaun. You've lived almost twice my lifetime. I would have expected you to have come to terms with a lot of things by now. Even your regrets." Molly wiped the tears that had fallen.

He stood and gave her a weak smile. "Mother, perhaps I should let you absorb all of this. You are-- overwhelmed. Like I said there's a lot to take in. Think things over."

"There is nothing to think over, Shaun. This is not something to be negotiated." She stood and walked over to him before placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry you are so sick, and there is nothing the doctors can do. I wanted to get to know you better. I'm sorry that can’t happen." She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes then bowed her head. "I'll come back and speak with you tomorrow, after I've seen Doctor Volkert."

Molly looked up and directly into his eyes hoping for that spark, hoping for that trace of Nate that was comforting, reassuring and had always given her a sense of restfulness in her darkest hours. However, it wasn't there. Instead there was a look of confusion. She gave him a doleful smile and returned to her quarters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Issues surrounding contraception, conception, pregnancy and abortion in the Wasteland are serious things to consider. I don't take this path lightly, and hope to infuse some of this story with my own experience and knowledge on these issues as thoughtfully as I can.


	10. The Return of the Prodigal Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Homesteaders begin their journey to Little Lamplight, with MacCready hoping that once they arrive, their pleas for temporary shelter won't be dismissed.

MacCready looked around the group as they readied to leave the homestead. Families hugging each other. The homestead’s two babies swaddled tight against their mothers. The older Savannah clinging to William. Carol, a cigarette hanging loosely from her mouth and throwing a gun over her shoulder. Dixie protesting being strapped to a stretcher behind a brahmin. All the children talking loudly. He wasn't sure this plan would play out, but if he knew one thing, he knew the Gunners would come back, they would see their dead comrade, see their other one tied up and slaughter every man, woman and child in the homestead. He couldn't let that happen, not here, not to those who had welcomed him back with open arms, to those who had cared for his son in his absence. RJ MacCready could be a selfish son of a bitch, but since traveling to the Commonwealth he'd learned a thing or two, about trust, respect, and honoring promises. He could do the cowardly thing, leave the homestead to their own devices, and take Duncan and travel back to Sanctuary Hills, or he could stand and fight with those who had placed trust in him. There was no way he could return to Molly if he left prematurely; no way he'd be able to hold his head high and say he'd done the right thing. He only ever wanted to do the right thing, by her and Duncan.

They'd decided to split the group up for traveling. Having so many people together could be dangerous, so they made a decision to send out a fake caravan as scout first with two of the oldest and most experienced shots posing as merchants.  The second group would be the bulk of the settlers, including all the children, and Stephi and Tully with their infants. The final group would be MacCready, Trevor, Abdul, Carol, and Aiden. They would be the wall between the traveling homesteaders and any of the Gunners or their dogs who caught up with them. The group was gathering for the first of the homesteaders to leave when Trevor came from behind him hauling two sacks.

MacCready lit a cigarette and pointed towards the sacks. "What's that, Trevor?"

Trevor stood upright and motioned for David to come haul one of the sacks onto one of the brahmin. He opened one of the bags and invited MacCready to look in.

MacCready held his head forward then recoiled, his lips curling into a frown and pulling his scarf up over his nose. "What the fu-- the hell is that?"

The guffaw that came from Trevor stopped the chattering around him and Carol sidled up next to MacCready.

"That, RJ, is a deterrent," Carol said and started to laugh.

MacCready's voice had an uncertain tone to it. "Deterrent for what? Looks like-- and smells like shi--" he looked towards Duncan who stared up at him like he was ready to laugh at what his Pa would say next. More than once he’d let his language slip sending the boy into paroxysm of laughter and his small hands clambering for a jar labelled ‘Papa’s swears’. "Smells like dung." He smiled and patted Duncan’s head. He then patted his pants. “Sorry, buddy. Papa’s all outta caps.”

Trevor slapped him on the back. "Indeedy, that's what it is, RJ. Deathclaw dung to be precise."

He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. "Why are we taking deathclaw dung with us? More importantly, how did you even get hold of it?"

Carol laughed again and took the cigarette out of her mouth. "A deathclaw been stalking these parts. We tried following back to its nest but we gave up, our old dog, Bessie-- bless her, was useless for a hunt after. We lay the dung out where we don't want our scents picked up. Trickle a bit out at a time. It will put the dogs off. I remembered we used to do that back in the old days when there were lots of wild dogs around so made an effort to bring a few sacks back. Might not work for so many people, but it's worth a try."

"That's clever. I'm surprised I'd never heard of it before," he replied.

Abdul stepped forward and asked people to gather around. "You've all got directions to this 'Little Lamplight' - but we shouldn't be too far from each other even though we'll be in the three separate groups. Listen to your group leaders, and don't stray from the road." He looked towards Sadie and Ryan and David and Gabby dressed as guards for the fake caravan. "You guys ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be. Scout and return along the route if needed." Gabby clicked her tongue as she walked towards the Brahmin where Dixie was currently strapped to a stretcher. "Don't be a hero, Dixie," she said and turned to the rest of the group. “Or any of you for that matter.”

"Hard for me when I’m so close to a Brahmin's ass." Dixie smiled and grabbed Gabby's hand squeezing it tight. David kissed Tully and his children before the fake caravan headed towards the settlement gate.

MacCready looked at his watch, tapped Joseph on the shoulder, and gave him a nervous smile. "You got twenty minutes to decide which group you wanna go with, you still want to go with the next one?"

Joseph tightened the straps on the load in front of him. "Yeah, probably best. The kids are scared enough as it is. Me being with them might make it a little less scary. Like it's an excursion." He turned to MacCready and sighed. "You know they might not let us in, right, RJ?" He slapped the brahmin on the behind and the animal gave a loud moo from both heads.

"I know, Joseph, I know." He bit his lip and hitched his rifle higher on his shoulder. "But they might let our kids in. We gotta try and least. And--" He dug a heel into the ground as he spoke. He knew what Joseph said was a distinct possibility, especially if their new mayor was as hard nosed as he had been. It's as good a place as any and really- it's the only place we can go. The adults can camp there and the kids, too, if we have to. Safer than Bigtown that's for sure."

Joseph nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess. We could have split up, too. But then, yeah, I don't know-- the road and that. Maybe this is the best thing."

MacCready lit another cigarette as the rest of the group waited nervously until Abdul addressed them again. "Okay. Time for the next group."

He knelt next to Duncan who was bouncing on his toes. "Okay, buddy. Remember what we talked about?" Duncan nodded  and he placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. "Tell me then."

"That we're going back to where you grew up."

"And?"

"I'm to listen to Joseph and Stephi if they tell me to do something."

"And?"

Duncan turned his head up and squinted his eyes "Um, um."

"About when we get to the place," MacCready prompted.

"Oh, yeah. You had a very important job for me when we get there!" He puffed his small chest outward.

MacCready laughed, recognizing just a little of himself in his son. "So until then--" He stuck his hand out and Duncan grabbed it and shook it. Duncan’s small arms then snaked around his neck and he hugged him tight.

He kissed his son's forehead as he made to stand.

Joseph held out his hand. "Best of luck, RJ. See you at the gates of Little Lamplight."

The second group took the remaining two packed brahmin and Trevor slung the second bag of dung up onto the brahmin towing Dixie's stretcher. "You won't mind the smell, will you Dix?" he said with a laugh.

"Probably smells better than your ass, Trevor."

"Kids with Joseph." Abdul shouted. MacCready took a deep breath as he released Duncan's shoulder from his tight grip.

"He'll be okay with us, RJ," Stephi said with a soft tone and a reassuring smile.

He returned her smile with a tight lipped one of his own and nodded as he watched the next group move slowly towards the gate. Duncan began to wave exaggeratedly towards him and as he passed beyond sight MacCready’s stomach lurched. Every moment here was just another confirmation that he would never leave his son ever again.

When all of the group disappeared Abdul turned to MacCready. "I hope you're right about this place, RJ."

MacCready stared at the gate and lit another cigarette. They'd be only twenty minutes behind but it already felt as though he was back in the Commonwealth and Duncan was five hundred miles away. "Me too, Abdul. Me too."

* * *

_MacCready hummed and turned his head to the side, his eyes wandered appreciatively over the blue jumpsuit that covered Molly Gould's ass. This woman, whoever she was, had a real nice one, and he had to admit as far as jobs went, watching her from this angle was kinda nice. Jobs had been in short supply, and even though it wasn't as if he was completely desperate, an easy escort job - for only fifty caps less than he asked - was a definite plus. She also happened to mention that there might be some more work for him once they got to this Sanctuary Hills place, and he wasn't about to say no to more easy caps. He just needed a little bit extra, stash it away, try not spend it on too much on booze and cigarettes, then he could actually hire someone to help him with those assholes Winlock and Barnes. And maybe he'd have enough left to hire someone so he could try MedTek again. Last time showed him he needed someone to watch his back._

_As far as escort jobs went, sometimes it was a gangster wanting safe passage for a husband or wife, or some other family member. But more often than not it would be for a courier, or some other accomplice. They’d be ferrying a large amount of caps, guns and ammo or very occasionally, a shipment of drugs. He'd managed to avoid that last one on most occasions, they were often messy, and he'd heard of more than one mercenary escort ending up dead._

_So here he was, a simple arrangement: point and shoot for a dumbass settler. Except he wasn't sure if she was a settler. She looked too clean, had good teeth, and there were few callouses on her hands, plus there was that vault jumpsuit. She had to be from a vault, she was soft, softer than the last vault dweller  he encountered back in Little Lamplight. This one he'd watch her look for stuff in amongst junk, picking junk from junk and put it in her pack, for fuck knows what. Then when they came across an annoying mole rat, or bloatfly, he'd watch her fumble with the trigger of the gun. He’d watch her not watch where she walked and it was obvious she was clueless about the danger right in front of her eyes. She had to be from a vault, it was the only thing that made sense. He also wondered if that wedding ring was real, maybe her husband was still there, maybe he was the softer of the two._

_His curiosity finally grew too much for him to contain. "Hey," he shouted._

_She stopped and turned around wide eyed. "Is there a threat or something?" Her eyes darted behind him._

_"Nah, it's not that, uh-- just ah-- making conversation."_

_"Oh, oh okay," she replied._

_"You're not a vault dweller, are you? Just the suit--" His hand waved up and down over her form. "I met one of them once, ages ago. Wore something almost exactly the same."_

_She looked down and to the side. "Uh-- uh. Yes, yes I am. I guess."_

_"So you-- ah musta lived a pretty cushy life in that vault, then? Haven't been in The Wasteland long?"_

_She ran a thumb across her bottom lip and cradled the gun she was holding against her chest. "No, I didn't live there at all, and no, I haven't been here long." She turned around and continued walking._

_His nose wrinkled in confusion and he stared at the back of her head, then his eyes moved down to her ass. "You're vault dweller but didn't live in a vault. How does that work, then?"_

_She didn't turn around for the answer. "Yes, that's right and it's uh, complicated. To say the least."_

_"And your husband, is he in the vault?"_

_She stopped walking and turned around again, a frown on her face. "You ask a lot of questions. Would that extra fifty I got out of paying make you stop?"_

_He snorted a laugh. "Sure, I can shut up for fifty caps. Like I said, just making conversation."_

_They were silent as they walked past another Red Rocket truck stop and then past a statue until they got to a bridge across an expanse of water he'd never seen before. His brow furrowed. "Just one question."_

_She huffed out a laugh but continued to walk. "Just one, then. It will cost you five caps."_

_"I can live with that," he replied. His hard boots made the wood of the bridge creak underneath his feet. "If you didn't live in the vault. Where'd you live then?"_

_She turned her head briefly to look at him but didn't stop walking until they reached the crest of the bridge. She pointed to the houses on the road ahead. "That's where I lived. That's my home."_

_When they got to the other side of the bridge a sign on the right said "Welcome to Sanctuary Hills."_

_Old tires, general rubbish, and leaf litter were scattered over the road. The houses derelict and in ruin, no guards or fences, and a dog came running up as they walked. "Huh, looks like a bit of shi-- looks like a bit of a dump."_

_She leaned down and patted the dog before turning to him, mouth tight and brow cocked. "Are you always this rude? Like your home in Goodneighbor is any better. Come on, Dogmeat." She turned abruptly and headed up the road._

_He followed behind her. "I'm a long long way from home," he mumbled._

* * *

 The road was quiet and for that MacCready was grateful. Occasionally Trevor would shovel out a small amount of deathclaw dung so he tried to stay out of his path. He hadn't been back to Little Lamplight since leaving almost eight years prior. It wasn't that long ago really, but so much had happened in that time that it might has well have been a lifetime. He likened this journey to returning home, but he's not sure what kind of reception they'd get, and for that he was starting to worry. Sure staying in the shadow of the mountain would be safe, but not as safe as having rock ceiling above you. MacCready’s stomach knotted tight when he saw a red rag in the middle of the road, a sign that the group ahead met with some danger. He picked it up read it aloud to the group. “Large group of molerats ahead most are dead, might be a few stragglers.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

Carol shook her head as they passed the molerat carcasses. "Damn shame we can't carry them with us. Would have made a good stew."

MacCready laughed. "There's a lot of molerats in the hills around Little Lamplight. We won't be short of mole rat Stew, Carol."

"So what was this place like?" Abdul asked. "You said it was all kids and they don't like adults."

"Mungos, we called adults Mungos, and yeah we never liked them. Apparently the story goes that early on after all the adults disappeared after the war they found a vault deep in the caves."

"A vault? Why didn't you go inside?" Carol asked. "Would have been a damn sight safer I warrant."

MacCready made a patting down motion. "If you let me finish-- they wouldn't let the kids in, told them they were already dead or something. In the end it was full of Greenskins, not sure how that happened. There's probably information on it somewhere inside the vault itself, but I've been inside that vault only once, and that was enough. So that's how we grew to distrust adults. The supermutants would go in and out through Murder Pass."

Trevor snorted. "MacCready, you're not selling this Little Lamplight. Supermutants? Murder Pass? Sounds like we're walking into a fire."

MacCready gave a nervous laugh. "If a bunch of kids can survive for two hundred years in the shadow of a bunch of supermutants, it'll be fine. Really. Little Lamplight is safe. It's pretty difficult to get through to the vault anyhow, never had a single mutant show up on our side of the cave."

Abdul shook his head. "I don't like the sound of this, RJ."

"Abdul, would I take you there if it wasn't safe? Both me and Lucy grew up there; Joseph, too." They continued to walk until they came across another red flagged message and once again MacCready’s stomach lurched.

Abdul picked it up and read it.  "Fuck."

"What is it?" Trevor replied.

"Apparently there's some wandering feral ghouls up ahead, first group met two. Second had to contend with half a dozen, but they're okay." Abdul looked to Trevor whose face was plastered with a frown and his brow deeply furrowed.

"Yeah, I think I remember the place, some caravan site shanty town," MacCready said. "I don't think we'll have to contend with too many."

They walked for another ten minutes until they reached a sign that pointed towards Jalbert Brothers Waste Disposal. Several freshly dead feral ghoul corpses littered the path.

MacCready cocked his gun. "This is the place. Keep your eyes peeled and your gun ready."

A gurgling noise came from behind bushes, a feral ghoul wandering had yet to notice their presence. "Ayup! Three o'clock!" he yelled.

Trevor's shotgun blast hit the ghoul before it could even react. Several shrieks could be heard in the distance and the group readied itself as six feral ghouls came running down the path.

MacCready's gun hit one, Abdul's another. Carol's gun hit the leg of yet another the impact felling it with a loud skid onto the gravel path. One of ghouls stumbled and fell over the prostrate ghoul. Trevor had reloaded and blasted two more as they came close, but Abdul's gun jammed and the ghoul was on him before the catch released again. He whacked it and a heavy crunching noise could be heard as the butt of the gun smashed against bone. The ghoul shrieked again and Abdul shoved the barrel of his rifle up into the ghouls gaping mouth, it's jaw hanging by a single sinew. The blast was loud and bone shrapnel scattered. Aiden had stepped up to the ghoul on the ground and fired into it's skull.

They waited, expecting another wave, but nothing came.

"Okay, let's get moving," Abdul said, wiping feral ghoul brains from the side of his face. "Trevor and Aiden, you stay at the back and keep your eyes peeled if any more come down that path and follow. Hope this place has enough running water for a wash," he said and grimaced.

"We should reach the mountain by nightfall," MacCready said.

* * *

_Several settlers had gathered inside the house that served as a pool hall and bar. MacCready walked into the room and several settlers stopped to watch him before continuing with conversations. Sturges gave him a piercing stare before he and one of the newer settlers returned to their game of pool. MacCready was getting used to the stares from the settlers, he didn’t much care what they thought, but their opinion of mercenaries was definitely one of mistrust. He could echo their sentiment at least._

_Molly followed and walked straight to the small makeshift bar whilst MacCready sat on a nearby stool and lit a cigarette._

_"Whiskey?" she asked._

_"Sure, Boss," he replied and tipped some ash in the bar top ashtray. She handed him a glass and sat down next to him on a neighboring stool. The crack of pool balls reverberated in time with the music currently blaring from the radio._

_He took a sip and turned to her. "Where too next, Boss, or is it General now?" It appeared that she was to lead the Minutemen, and he'd have to be honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure why they chose her, he hadn’t observed anything remotely leadership like in her manner. Maybe it was as he’d heard, they were a doomed group and this was its final death throes. Yes, admittedly she'd spent more time with Preston than anybody, and Preston should probably know more than anyone. He’d been travelling with Molly for over a month now and he’d made several quiet observations about her and her companions. Both Preston and Valentine, Piper and even Strong seemed to have a real connection with her. He liked her alright, her caps filled his pockets, but he didn't see why she was so damn special about her to these people._

_She sighed and looked ahead. "Yeah-- General. Maybe stay here for a few days. Then head up to a couple of places that might make good settlements. A boathouse and a farm just south of here. Then there's the matter of this Freedom Trail"_

_MacCready took another gulp of drink and they watched as Sturges hit two into a side pocket. "'Freedom Trail. don't know why you're bothering, Boss." He put his drink down and took a long draw from his cigarette before blowing it out the side of his mouth. "I've been traveling with you for a month or so now. But you never told me anything about living here, or why this Freedom Trail is so important. Like you said that you came from a vault-- I'm assuming the one up over the hill there. But that you didn't live there?"_

_Molly turned to him and narrowed her eyes. "I guess I haven't really said much, have I?"_

_He shook his head. "I mean, you pay me to point and shoot. Not to confess whatever sins you have." He chuckled and raised his eyebrows._

_She bowed her head and gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. And you do that so well I've kept you around. Maybe I do have some sins to confess. I just haven’t made it to the confessional yet."_

_He smiled, reading her statement as flirtatious he laiid his cigarette back in the ashtray and leaned an elbow on the bar. "I am pretty good, aren't I?" He gave her a pointed smile and watched as she shook her head and laughed again. "I've kinda made up bits and pieces about you from what you've said, but really it's a mystery."_

_She tilted her head. "Made up bits and pieces? I'm curious as to what that means."_

_He pulled his shoulders back and drained the remnants of his glass. "I'm not that observant for the most part. But-- the vault suit, that wedding ring, no husband that I'm aware. Not that you talk about anyway. I thought you were a settler at first but none of it adds up."_

_Molly leaned on the bar her hand, balled up into a fist, sat under her chin. "What do you mean by that-- add up?"_

_"I mean, you confuse me. I don't think I've met anyone quite like you--" he gave another chuckle. "Although there was that one guy-- but he’s pretty dead now.”_

_She snorted a laugh. "Well, if you want to know more-- yes, I lived before the war, in that house where I'm currently sleeping. With my husband, Nate and my baby son, Shaun."_

_His brow furrowed in confusion. "Baby son? Ahh before the war? But you're not a ghoul?"_

_She looked down into her glass. "No, I am not a ghoul." She shifted sideways in her seat and smiled. "I just realized you really don't know anything about me, and as much as I know about you."_

_MacCready tapped a hand on his rapidly emptying glass and pondered whether he should continue this line of questioning. This was the first time she’d mentioned a kid. It was beginning to sound like a quid pro quo deal and he wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know too much about him or his life. He remained silent and gave her a stilted smile._

_She turned and blinked several times opening her mouth but then shutting it before finally opening it to speak. "I lived in that house before war, yes, and no I'm not a ghoul for reasons that are easy to explain. When the sirens rang warning us about the bombs that were about to drop we went straight to vault-- we had only signed up that week." She looked up to the roof. "Fortuitous, I guess."_

_"That was two hundred years ago, still not making sense, Boss. You don't look a day over a hundred and fifty." He laughed and tried to ease what was rapidly becoming a serious conversation._

_Molly sighed and took a large gulp and stood and moved around to the other side of the bar pouring another glass for herself and holding the bottle up towards him. He nodded and held out his glass. "We were placed in cryogenic chambers. I thought it was to protect us from immediate radiation. But it was some bizarre experiment. As I've since found out, most vaults were founded on things like this. We were 'unfrozen' about ten years ago. And they killed Nate and stole Shaun."_

_MacCready rubbed his eyelid with one hand, he wasn’t entirely convinced of this story, sounded kind of crazy, probably more so if it was true. "Shi- wow, Boss that's--" he stopped and put his hand to his mouth shaking his head. "What, wait? The vault people stole your baby from your arms?"_

_"Not my arms, Nate's. He wouldn't give Shaun up, so they shot and killed him. I remember when we first heard the sirens I was so scared. Nate had taken Shaun from my shaking arms, I would have fallen over otherwise. When we got to the vault and after we changed into our vault suits he was still holding him, he wouldn't let anyone else take him. They froze us like that. When I think about it, the fact I wasn't holding Shaun saved my life."_

_"Damn. Have you been looking for him all this time? Is that what this is? All these visits with Valentine, with this trail thing?" MacCready stared at her. It was as though he was meeting her for the first time, her blue grey eyes looked misty and her cheeks sucked in a breath before releasing it._

_"I have. And I know the Institute has him."_

_MacCready focused his gaze on her, a story was unfolding before him and from the back of his mind a voice was telling him to pay attention, that the reason the people around her might think more of her was because there_ was _more to her than he could see. "How-- how do you know this?"_

_"Because Nick and I found the man who killed Nate."_

_"You found him? Did you question him?"_

_She shook her head and her eyes took on a faraway quality. "No. No, I didn't. There was a gun fight, synths mainly, but I had Nick with me and he knew what to do and when the fight was over, Kellogg, the man who killed Nate, was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. He said this and I won't forget it, 'In another life you probably would have been a good mother. But here... in this terrible reality? You just don't get that chance.' I could have spared his life. But I didn't. I shot him in the head, point blank range."_

_He felt his jaw slacken in disbelief. He was reasonably skilled at detecting liars. First the story about the vault and her husband and now, what she had just said to him? He stared into her eyes and read a sadness in them he knew all too well. She didn’t have the demeanor of a liar._

_She gave a sad smile and held her glass up. "One step closer to the truth of this ‘terrible reality’. One step closer to Shaun."_

_"I had a wife and she died. Torn apart by feral ghouls. That was two and half years ago," he blurted out and gave a small nervous laugh. He'd never shared that information with a stranger. Few people knew. The homesteaders, Daisy and Hancock in Goodneighbor, but that was it. He wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the fact she'd just owned up to killing someone in cold blood that had him on his knees in his own confessional. He wasn’t sure if he’d made a huge mistake telling her that, but it didn’t feel wrong to him._

_"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die," Molly replied and she quickly wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry about your wife."_

_He stared at her not sure what to say. He knew that quote, some pre war poet. He couldn’t remember who said it exactly but it was something Joseph said to him when one of his favourite Little Lamplight dogs died. He’d forgotten that quote until now. He kept staring at her as she sipped on the remnants of her drink. The noise of the other settlers had merged into the background music from the radio. When he realised he’d been staring for too long he turned and picked up his cigarette._

_She appeared not to notice his bug eyed stare and stood and placed the glass on the bar. "I should go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow, MacCready." There was a slight tremble to her voice and she stifled a yawn with her hand._

_"Goodnight, Boss." He watched as she walked slowly towards the door nodding to the various people still in the room._

_MacCready stared at the floor, maybe he could ask her to help with Winlock and Barnes, he’d been looking for someone to watch his back, and maybe in a pinch she’d be a great shot, if her experience with this Kellogg guy was to be believed. Maybe he could even ask her to help with MedTek. First thing tomorrow he’d hit up Valentine, ask a few veiled questions, not that Valentine wouldn’t smell his curiosity a mile away, but it would be worth the risk even if the synth mocked him. He drained his glass and lit another cigarette. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke hit his lungs, the burning feeling making him close his eyes and smile. For the first time in a while he thought things might finally turn his way._

_Sturges was racking up another on the table. "Hey, Merc. You got balls enough for this?" Sturges tossed him a pool cue._

_He caught the cue, guffawed, and stood to join him at the table. "Like fu-- like steel, Handyman."_

* * *

 MacCready stood with his hands on his hips. "Ahh, come on, just get the Mayor, let us speak to someone in authority."

The kid at the gate of Little Lamplight laughed and spat down towards him, barely missing MacCready's boot. "Go away, Mungo. I don't care who you are, or were. Get lost and take your loser friends with you."

"C'mon kid, let us speak to the Mayor," Joseph said.

Stephi placed her hand on MacCready's arm. "They're not gonna let us in, RJ." Her voice had a degree of mild panic to it.

They both looked up when they heard shouting from behind the gate. "What's going on?"

The kid shouted behind him. "It's nuthin' just a bunch of Mungos wanting in. Some guy saying he was Mayor here once and some other loser saying he was a teacher. Yeah, right."

They could hear footsteps leading up to the platform and a head popped up next to the kid manning the gate. It was a girl, a teenager. She narrowed her eyes and looked from MacCready to Joseph and back again. A smile spread across her face. "Mayor Mac? Uncle Joseph?"

MacCready tilted his head and laughed. "Bumble?"

The snotty kid who'd been guarding the gate turned to Bumble. "You know these loser Mungos, Betty?"

"Yeah, I do Elijah, I do! Open the gate."

Elijah sighed and shook his head. "They're not coming in until Trudy says they can."

"Open the damn gate," she replied.

"You're gonna get it, not me," Elijah said.

She waved her hand. "Fine, fine, just open the gate."

The familiar rumbling noise signaled the gates opening. At the entrance stood Bumble, almost as tall as MacCready, but a little shorter than Joseph. She ran at MacCready and hugged him tight before turning to Joseph to do the same. "I can't believe it's you."

"Bumble, you're still here," MacCready said.

She laughed and shook her head. "Still a few you might know here. But as for me, I won't be here for long, RJ, I have to leave. I turn sixteen next week. And it's Betty now."

"Ah right. Okay Betty it is then."

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a note of concern in her voice.

"Our settlement is in a little trouble, we just need somewhere for our settlers to stay --particularly our kids-- we were hoping they might stay here." He pointed to the kids huddled next to Stephi and Tully

Betty looked to the group. "I don't know, RJ, you know the rules, better than anyone."

"Yeah, I know, but even I made exceptions. You still get traders right? And most of us will stay outside. It's just the kids and the babies and Moms, and just for a week or week and half at most. Until we sort out these-- people-- giving us trouble. We got caps and things to trade. If that’s of any value."

Betty's eyes darted from MacCready to Joseph.  "Just wait here, I'll go speak to the Mayor."

MacCready looked to Joseph who shrugged.

Elijah scowled down at them as Betty disappeared into Little Lamplight. "You Mungos stay where the hell you are."

MacCready held up his hands. "We're not moving."

As they waited for Betty to return, MacCready gave a heavy sigh and sat down next to Duncan on the dusty ground. They had decided only MacCready and Joseph and the group seeking shelter should go down into the cave-- so as not to spook the citizens of Little Lamplight. Joseph, Stephi and Tully remained standing, despite their tired faces. The rest of the kids played with sticks and drew shapes in the loose dirt; their laughter echoing around the entrance chamber.

“Papa, you really lived here?” Duncan asked.

“I did,” he replied and looked up to the ceiling of the cave, remembering the feeling of security it had given him and how he’d wish for that same feeling many times after he left, and aside from pockets where he thought he could return to that sense of calm, it had eluded him for many years-- until he’d met Molly.

They waited twenty minutes before Betty returned with several older kids and a small girl who didn't look much older than ten. She had bright ginger hair, blue eyes and a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She came face to face with them and crossed her arms. Trudy Riley was short for her age, the top of her head barely reaching MacCready’s armpits. She was dressed in three quarter pants and wore a bright red and white checked shirt that looked immaculate compared to most of the other kids. "I'm Mayor Riley. Betty tells me you're RJ MacCready."

He nodded. "And this is Jo--"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I know who the fuck he is. Betty told me. Why should we let you stay?"

"We're former citizens of this place. We aren't here to harm anyone," Joseph said.

"I know you're former citizens. There's a fucking book about you here somewhere and some loser put your name down on a plaque. But that doesn't count for much around here."

"We got caps and trade. It's just the kids and the mom's nursing. That's it."

"Well, caps counts." She looked over the kids in the background and took a puff of her cigarette. "How many people?"

"Five kids, two babies and their mothers, just who you see here."

"Got more outside?"

"The rest of the settlers from our homestead but they won’t come in only the people who will trade."

She crossed her arms and spoke around the lit cigarette. "How many caps?"

"We have around three hundred and seventy, plus whatever to trade," Joseph said.

"That's not a lot."

"It's all we could grab at the time," Joseph replied.

MacCready thought about what the Homesteaders were offering, would he as Mayor accepted such a deal? There’s no doubt the caps would be the main incentive, and more than acceptable, but you would have had to charm him as well.

She sniffed and took the cigarette out of her mouth, stubbing it on the ground. "Alright. The caps and whatever you got to trade and this lot can stay. Ten days and then you're out. We ain’t feedin' them though and if they cause any trouble you can all fucking leave. That includes the Mungos on the surface."

Stephi stepped forward. "Thank you, thank you. We won’t-- we won't cause any trouble and ten days should be more than enough." She turned to MacCready and gave him a hopeful smile.

Mayor Riley rolled her eyes and sighed. "Don't thank me, thank Betty here. She's responsible if you mess up." She turned without saying anything, leaving Betty and the group standing there. Elijah shouldered his weapon and stood back muttering under his breath.

MacCready turned to Betty and smiled. "Thanks, Bumb-- Betty."

"I hope you can sort everything out in the next ten days," she said.

"I hope so too." He made to turn with the rest of the adults and Betty put her hand on his shoulder.

"RJ, when you go, can I come with you?"

MacCready's mouth fell open. "Ah, I'll have to talk to the others first, but--"

"You're the boss aren't you?" Betty scratched her cheek and looked from MacCready to Joseph.

Joseph laughed. "Don't worry, Betty. We'll talk about it. Okay."

She nodded. "I know all the medic stuff now. I can be useful. Thanks to Lucy."

MacCready swallowed at the mention of Lucy's name and nodded. "I'll be sure to let the group know."

"Thank you, RJ, thank you, Uncle Joseph."

"Just Joseph is fine, Betty."

She nodded again and MacCready felt the tension in his shoulders release. He owed the citizens and their generous Mayor a debt of Gratitude. The plan worked, they were here and willing to take in the Homestead’s children for a short while, as well as Stephi and Tully. He stepped over to Duncan and knelt. "Now kiddo, I've got something import for you to do."

Duncan's eyes widened. "What is it, Papa?"

MacCready dragged out a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. "I've drawn a map. There's treasure down here, and this is where to find it. Bring it back to me. I'll be back in a few days." He wasn’t sure he would be back, but Duncan didn’t need to know that and he pushed the thought from his mind.

The boy's head bobbed with an enthusiastic yes.

He kissed Duncan's forehead and stood. "See ya in a few days."

“That’s you son, RJ?” Betty said in disbelief.

“And Lucy’s,” he said and sighed. “Duncan, this is Bu-- Betty. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Hello!” Duncan addressed Betty with enthusiasm.

Betty held out her hand. “Hi Duncan, it’s really nice to meet you.” She put her hand to her mouth and said aside to him loud enough for MacCready to hear. “But you can call me Bumble.”

Duncan gave her a large smile and nodded.

Betty turned to MacCready. “Where’s Lucy?”

MacCready shook his head and watched as Betty opened her mouth in an inaudible gasp. “Sorry, RJ-- I--”

“Thanks, Betty." He scratched the back of his neck as she stared at him. "It’s a long story,” he replied and gave her a sad smile.

She nodded and put her hand on his. “I’ll take good care of him, RJ. Like you and Lucy took good care of me.”

He took a small measure of comfort that Bumble had said this to him. That one of Little Lamplights own along with Homesteaders Stephi and Tully would be keeping an eye on Duncan while they sorted this mess out. He nodded and they left the small group to enter into Little Lamplight. As the gate closed behind them, MacCready felt a wave of relief wash over him. Little Lamplight was safe. Duncan was safe, now it would be time to make sure everyone else was safe too.


	11. Two steps forward one step back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a dramatic turn of events, Molly is left with a decision that changes the course she had so carefully laid out in her mind.

Molly took a deep breath and stared at the two ampoules that sat on Doctor Volkert's desk. They each contained a measure of yellowy orange powder. Her hands instinctively began to fold in on one another.

"What do I do?" Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"You take the first one, break it open into a liquid, hot or cold the powder will dissolve in either. The second, the same, but twenty four hours later."

"If I forget to take the second?"

He shook his head. "You don't want to do that. There will be some cramping and pain. And there will be blood loss. I can't guarantee that it will be pain free, but it could be."

Molly wiped a hand over her face and hesitated before speaking. "How long do I have to make the decision?"

"Not long. Two-- three weeks at most. Any longer, it’s a different-- more invasive procedure, surgery even. However, if you do decide to keep the pregnancy, the blood tests show no abnormalities. Radiation seems to have had no effect, that we can see."

Her tongue flicked against her teeth. "That you can see,” she repeated.

Volkert gave her a weak smile. "You're almost halfway through the second trimester, Molly. You can't leave it much longer without ramifications to yourself-- we can do a lot here for you; on the surface-- I doubt they can do anything at all."

Despite Molly's sickness and tiredness from the early part of the pregnancy dissipating, her stomach clenched and a faint nausea returned. She picked up the ampoules. They felt heavy in her hand, even though together they weighed less than half an ounce. She recalled on her many visits to the obstetrician, there was a chart of fetal development. It showed that at sixteen weeks, a fetus would start to look like a person. A sudden rise of bile hit the back of her throat and her lip quivered.

"Molly, I understand that this is not going to be an easy decision for you, given your history. However, I'm probably the closest thing you have to a counsellor in this instance. Here, take the ampoules-- but take your mind off this for at least a day."

Molly huffed out a tired laugh. "I don't think a day will be long enough."

Volkert sat patiently. "Take two then."

Molly ran a hand along her shoulder and sniffed back a tear. "You know if this war hadn't happened, Doctor Volkert, if the vault hadn't happened-- I'd had lived my life with my husband, and Shaun. We'd maybe even had another child and lived a comfortable life, worrying about mundane things; like what to eat for dinner that night, where to go shopping, talking about mowing the lawn or where we might go on our next family vacation. What I wouldn't give for mundane right about now." She rested her hand back in her lap. "We had a lot of difficulty conceiving Shaun. It was hard on both us, definitely hard on me.” She recalled the many disappointments they had when trying to conceive, the effect it had on her mood, the tears she had cried when Nate wasn’t looking, trying to remain stoic despite it all. She began to weep as she spoke and Doctor Volkert reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But it wasn't hard on our relationship. We grew. Stronger. Closer. I don't think I would have coped without Nate. He said otherwise, but, he was the bedrock." She let her tears fall without wiping them away. "And before you say anything, I'm not saying I'm weak. I realized long ago I need people more than other people need people. Do you see? How can I make this decision alone?"

Since leaving the vault Molly had to make so many decisions, ones that involved life and death, over and over, without anyone else's input. This one though, cut through to her heart, cut through to a memory that had sent her into despair. In regard to children and conception, before the war Nate had been with her through it all, but now, she was alone and she’d never had to make a choice like this before, this was a road she had never taken.

The options before her were straightforward enough, stay at the Institute, or return to the surface; if she stayed at the Institute, she had a choice to become the Director or not; the decision to keep or terminate her pregnancy added a dimension to that choice complicating things further. Would a child be safe here? On the surface she understood the dangers, but she’d also seen families there, happy and together. She felt dizzy with the pros and cons currently dancing in her head.  

Volkert handed her a handkerchief. "You would have liked my wife, Molly; she was a people person too." Through her fog of tears Molly could see a slight shimmer to his eyes but he shook his head and rolled his shoulders in a stoic manner. "But, yes, I can see."

She stood to leave, picked up the ampoules and placed them in her jumpsuit pocket. "I'll have walk around, do some thinking. Shaun-- I'll inform him, and you of course, when I make a decision."

Volkert patted her hand. "For what it's worth, Molly, women have made this choice alone many times before. I have faith that you will do what's right for you. I can't make a decision for you, or insist one way or another. That's not my job. But I can be a sounding board."

Molly looked down at her shoes and sniffed. "Counsellor, yes, you said. Thank you, Doctor Volkert," she replied, dabbed at the tears with the handkerchief and left the room.

* * *

_"What is it, Nate?" Molly asked, giving him a warm smile._

_"It's wrapped up for a reason, Molly. Open it and see," Nate replied._

_After the news of her pregnancy reached him, Nate had made every effort to return home as early as he could. He'd wangled enough leave for a week before he had to return. Where he was stationed, Molly didn't know, it was too sensitive a detail to even share with his wife. The return had been a surprise, he’d showed up at their doorstep with a bottle of the best non-alcoholic champagne he could find, and a bright floral box wrapped in pale blue ribbon._

_The gift she held in her hand was too big to be some sort of jewellery, too small to be clothing or shoes. She bought it to her nose and sniffed. The aroma was distinctly peppermint in origin and she gave him a knowing smile; it wasn’t the first time he’d bought her something peppermint related as a gift. She brought the box to her ear and rattled it._

_He put his hands out. "Hey, hey. Careful there."_

_"Mhmm, something breakable as well then," she said before placing the box down on the table and undoing the ribbon and removing a smaller white cardboard box. She lifted the flap and bought the item out, removing the tissue paper wrapping as she went._

_It was a teapot. Fine china and an unusual design. The pot was painted in white and red petunia petals, small and delicate with white shadows on red and red shadows on white. It had a leaf as a spout and a green stem as a handle. The knob of the lid was silver butterfly wings in a fluttering position. Stuffed inside the pot was a bag of fresh peppermint leaves._

_Molly felt her eyes well with tears. "Oh, Nate. It's beautiful." She embraced him and tilted her head up for a deep kiss, her hand placed delicately on his cheek._

_He held her tight against him and kissed the top of her head. "I know it can't replace the pot that your Grandmother gave you, but here's to a new beginning, right?"_

_Memories of Grandmother June flooded back to her. That teapot had been been special, they had shared a cup from that pot on the day before she died. ‘I hope one day, my Molly you get to share a cup with your Granddaughter,’ she had said. When it broke, it was as though the universe was laughing at her and her situation.She nodded against him, knowing that he was right, a new beginning and now this beautiful new teapot. She nestled her cheek against his shoulder._

_His hand snaked down between them and he laid the palm of his hand over the small bump of her waist. "I won't be gone too long, and then I’ll be home for good," he whispered._

* * *

Liam Binet sat on the terraced seat half facing away from Molly. "The synths will be ready to flee within the next couple of days. Do you have what I asked for?"

"Things here are going slower than I thought they would. I've hit some-- complications and you need-- the synths ready to go, need to be patient. However, I have the prewar admin password. Just hold off until I'm ready."

She knew that these ‘complications’ were weighing heavily on her mind, the question over the Directorship, whether to stay here or not and the choice whether to terminate her pregnancy. She couldn’t hold off too long, the synths needed an out and the longer she waited, the more likely the plot to liberate them would be uncovered.  

Liam looked towards her, a frustrated grimace fell across his face. "I guess I have to trust you."

"Yes, I guess you do. I'll let you know soon enough. Don't worry, Liam. One way or another, the synths that want to be free, will be free." Molly held back on saying much more. Given the bigotry and hatred she had seen enacted towards synths and suspected synths up on the surface, it was inevitable that their struggles would not be over even after leaving here. They would have The Railroad at their back and the Brotherhood at their throats. There would be mistrust and betrayal and more families would be torn apart before things calmed and it was something she no longer wanted for anyone.

She stood without a goodbye and went back to her apartment. Inside she grabbed a drink and headed out towards the shared balcony at the end of the hall. The small cramped space overlooked the atrium of the Institute. She sat back in a chair and watched the synth workers below tend to the vestiges of green that fell between walkways and terraces. Scientists moved from one end of the main atrium to the other. People sat outside the cafeteria oblivious to everything outside this space; oblivious to struggle, hunger and danger. It all appeared clinical, clean, an affront to her senses, a mockery of what she thought a 'good life' should entail. She once thought that a suburban life would be hers, and that life would be full of love, laughter, and all the good things she knew in the world, even with the troubles at their doorstep. However, she also knew she had deluded herself about her old life, Nate had shielded her from the worst and she’d blissfully misunderstood the rest. Now she knew that what she had seen around her was a veneer, that even manicured lawns have weeds waiting to sprout. With that knowledge, came an undercurrent about this place, what it was, what it stood for, what it had done to her life. In each sanitized corner you could see the tireless efforts of the Commonwealth’s most brilliant minds, but scratch the veneer just a little and this 'last hope for humanity' was devoid of a soul.

Water underneath the glass walkways sparkled, the luminescent lights occasionally catching her eye. Her mind moved to the ampoules still in her jumpsuit pocket. Abortion had never been in her realm of thought. And despite the assurances from Volkert and Shaun that a child could have a good life here at the Institute, she couldn't help think that no child anywhere in this Godforsaken world, even here with its glass ceilings and sparkling radiation free water, would be better off. Welcome yes, but never better off. It had been over a year since she put a bullet in Conrad Kellogg's head but his last words still haunted her. _'This terrible reality? You just don't get that chance.'_ She placed her empty glass on the pristine coffee table in front of her and a hand delved into her pocket with the ampules. "You just don't get that chance." The mumbled words she spoke to herself disappeared into the background hum of water cascading and people going about their daily lives. She stared into an open space as she fingered the glass in her pocket.

"Excuse me, Ma'am."

Molly took a deep breath and sighed before looking up to the polite synth who'd addressed her. "Yes?"

"Father would like to speak with you. An urgent matter requires your attention."

Molly took a deep breath and sighed. She wondered if anywhere either on the surface or here she could escape the demands on her, but it wasn’t to be. "Oh, alright. I'll come,” she said, a reluctant tone in her voice. The synth nodded and left without further word.

She'd promised to return to Shaun after meeting with Doctor Volkert but she needed time to think, and she was no closer to any decisions than she had been when options were first laid before her. She still wanted to forge something with Shaun, with the Institute, despite how empty this place felt. What that was, for the moment at least, eluded her.

* * *

Shaun sat hunched over his terminal when she arrived at his apartment. "Shaun."

At the sound of her voice he swiveled his chair. "Ah, Mother. Good, you're here now."

"Shaun, before you start, I haven't changed my mind. I'm still--"

He made a placating gesture with his hands. "It's not that, Mother. I understand you need more time. Another situation requiring your attention has arisen."

"What?" she said with a note of concern.

He stood and walked over to face her. "Your Minuteman."

"What about them?" Her overall weariness dissipated as worry crept into her reply.

"It appears that they have one of our-- retrieval teams-- pinned down in a house outside Greygarden Homestead."

"Retrieval team? What are they retrieving exactly?" She crossed her arms as she finished her questions.

"There’s a scientist we wish to recruit. He became spooked and called on your Minuteman. They answered, and neither the scientist nor your Minuteman want to talk with our team.  I need you to tell your Minuteman to stand down and to-- persuade the scientist that we mean him no harm. That the Institute will keep him and any of his family in good care."

Molly had already made judgements making her complicit in the Institute activities, how many more would she be asked to make in their name? She had effectively lied to Bill Sutton about Roger Warwick being a synth, and the thought of just one more activity like this, gave her a sense of disquiet. She sighed then huffed out an incredulous laugh. "Negotiate? That's what you want me to do?"  

"I'm afraid so. Can you attend to this straight away? Maybe a trip to the surface will remind you what we can offer here. Help resolve the situation in which you find yourself."

‘ _The situation_ ’. She bristled, bowed her head and gave a quiet laugh. "I highly doubt that, Shaun. Nevertheless, I will go speak to them. Try and diffuse the situation."

He breathed a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Mother."

She made to leave the room but then remembered Shaun’s illness. She’d been so wrapped up in her own inner turmoil she had neglected to ask him how he was faring. She turned back to him. "How are you feeling, Shaun? Are you-- well today?"

Shaun's eyes softened and for a brief moment, Nate stood before her. "I am. Thank you for asking. More importantly though, how are you? Have you spoken with Doctor Volkert?"

Molly took a deep breath. "I have, yes. And he uh-- gave me some options."

"Ah, I see. If you wish to talk, I am here."

Molly looked over Shaun and stood back. There were so many things she had wanted to ask him, knowing their time together would be cut short gave her an urgency to this interaction. "Shaun, they call you 'Father' here -- I'm assuming that's because you are the basis of all human synths, right?" Normally she would pull back on such a question, but the sense that this was the right time to ask, fell upon her like heavy rain cloud.

His brow furrowed at the question. "Yes, that's correct."

"But you have no children-- no real children of your own."

"Also correct. I'm afraid I never had time for such-- trivialities. We live in exciting and revelatory times, Mother. Who has time for the mundane aspects of life? I certainly haven't."

Molly felt a chill run down her spine and she gave him a cold smile. "I'll go get my kit and get to the surface."

He smiled. "The Minutemen will listen to you."

"Yes, yes they will."

* * *

Blood oozed between Molly's fingers as she pressed down on the wound. She could feel the rapid thump of her heart at the pulse point in her neck; it was inaudible but had the same effect as though a loud drum was beating close to her ear. It was the same pulse point from which she was attempting to stem the flow of blood from the man lying in front of her.

"I knew this, I knew this would happen," Enrico Thompson said in a panicked voice as he looked up at Molly. "Tell Alice--tell the girls--tell--" He coughed and spluttered as he tried to speak.

"It's okay, Enrico, you can tell them yourself--" Molly turned her gaze to Preston who had knelt down next to her holding a towel. He shook his head.

She turned her attention back to Enrico, still struggling to speak through blood coming from his mouth. MacCready had given her some basic field training in wound management, but she feared this was beyond what she could do, what anyone could do. She stopped pressing down on the wound at his throat, grabbed Enrico’s hand and squeezed. "I'll tell them, okay, whatever you want I'll tell them."

He smiled. "I love--" Molly could see the dying light in his eyes as he bled out. His breathing stopped and his hand turned limp in hers.

Molly laid his arm across his chest, closed Enrico's eyelids with her blood-smeared finger tips, and sat back on her haunches letting out a large sigh in the process. She sat stunned at the scene before her, there was so much blood, running down her wrists and seeping in under her cuffs, over her chest and running down inside her armored chest piece. The metallic smell hit the back of her throat and her gut lurched. She had wanted a peaceful resolution, instead she had death and a situation that had not gone the way she intended. She had convinced Casey Overton, the head of the group of Minutemen standing outside Graygarden Homestead to wait until she could talk everyone down, she would give the word if they needed the Minutemen’s assistance. However, several hot-headed individuals had taken it on themselves to enter the premises from the back of the property. Darryl Markham and Lizzy Day had begun shooting up the place before she could stop them.

Lizzy paid for the mistake with her life, as did three other Minutemen.

Molly stood, took another deep breath and released the tension from her shoulders. The shock and despair at Enrico’s needless death replaced with anger pooling in the pit of her stomach. She stormed from the homestead throwing open the door with a loud bang. Outside, the remaining Minutemen were regrouping, and the scientist Wallace stood nearby and watched as she stalked over to them drenched in Enrico's blood. She pushed her way through the group and thrust an angry fist into Markham's shoulder.

"I told you to stand down. When I give an order, you damn well listen to me. There are people dead, our people are dead. An innocent, unarmed man, is _dead_."

Markham stuttered as he spoke. "H--he was Institute--"

Molly punched him again, harder this time, the blood from her knuckles a brilliant red against his dirty tan coat. Markham wasn't much taller, so when she pushed her face close to his, their noses almost touched. "Do you know what you've done?"

Markham took a step back.

Months of her time, cultivating an escape bid for the synths, trying to understand her son's motivation's, trying to understand why the Institute was replacing people, withholding valuable scientific discoveries and medical aid, negotiating with the Railroad against too early a pre-emptive strike. It had all come to naught because of two dissatisfied settlers and a stray bullet. Her anger welled and her face was beet red. How would she explain to Shaun this failed negotiation? How would she explain the death of one of their own at the hands of her loyal Minutemen? A deep set feeling of shame and embarrassment crossed her thoughts along with Shaun’s words. ‘ _The Minutemen will listen to you.’_ She had failed her Minutemen, failed Shaun, failed Enrico and his family.  There would be no doubt now, Wallace’s reluctance to join the Institute would be compounded, too, it was the only thing in this whole sorry mess that didn’t feel like a tragedy.

"What do we do now, General?" Overton asked.

Molly turned towards him and wiped the back of hand against her jacket. "Go back to your settlements. First, Casey, take Wallace here home." She turned back to Markham and angrily pointed a finger in his direction. "As for you, I'll deal with you when I've sorted this mess out. _If I can sort it out_." She turned to Preston who had followed her out. "Preston, get someone to deal with Enrico's body. I'm going to wash my hands." She marched towards Graygarden settlement leaving Preston to give further instruction.

The water pump was rusty and hard to push. When it did come, it was cold and a relief to the heat still rising up her neckline. She rinsed her hands and splashed water on her face and the back of her neck. One of the robots attending to the garden came up behind her holding a towel. She thanked it and wiped her face, the towel showed that she still had blood on her face. Her shirt and jacket were stained; cleaning would have to wait until she returned to the Institute. She sat down underneath some shelter near the settlements workshop and put her face in her shaking hands.

"General, it's not your fault." Preston said as he approached and sat next to her on the bench.

She uncovered her face and turned to him. Preston was always there at her back, encouraging her at her lowest, supporting her and her decisions. He of all people knew what it was like to feel as though you were failing those who depended on you. "I have to take the blame, that's what a leader does."

“You sound like someone I know.”

Molly stared at him. She had told him the exact same thing a dozen times. She huffed out a small laugh.

"What are you going to do then?"

"I was supposed to diffuse this. I'll go back to the Institute and explain, that's all I can do.” She gave a long weary sigh. “Best I go now, news travels fast. Head back to Sanctuary, Preston, I'll meet you there." He nodded and made to stand as Molly clicked on her pip-boy and the transporter device that would take her to the Institute. Nothing. She pressed it again. Still nothing. "Shit."

"What is it, General?" Preston asked.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and mirrors of panic. "It's not working. The transporter’s not working." Her one solution to the problem cut off from her, she pressed it again. “No, no,” she said as it failed to respond.

"I'm sure-- maybe you just need to move around?" he said in a reassuring tone.

Molly stood and they both walked to the other side of the Greenhouse. She pressed the transporter connector again, and still nothing happened. She shook her head her. "This is bad, Preston."

"Then let's head back to Sanctuary Hills. Sturges might be able to help."

* * *

The water under Molly's feet turned crimson. The remnant blood washed off her in rivulets over freckled skin. Her shirt and everything underneath was ruined. Her General's jacket maybe too. When she stepped out of the shower and began to dry herself, she stopped and ran a hand over her stomach. There was a small bump, something not there barely a day ago. Molly couldn't remember what she looked like at four months pregnant, but she knew by the fifth month her stomach had well and truly 'popped'. Her thoughts swam back to MacCready, there had been no letter from him since before her visit to the Institute, before confirmation of her pregnancy, and she couldn't suppress a growing unease about it.

"I wish you were here," she whispered under her breath. She wiped the towel over her face and dressed. Her jacket, the only item of clothing she hadn't tossed into a basket in the corner, was draped over a stool and she retrieved the ampoules from the pocket. Blood had seeped into the pocket, washed over them and began to dry on the outside of the glass. She rinsed them in the small bathhouse sink then put them in her top pocket of her flannel shirt.  The walk to Minuteman House took barely a moment, but each step felt weighted with great urgency. Inside Sturges and Preston were sitting waiting for her in the office.

"Any luck?" she said as she entered and sat down at the desk. She could see someone had bought in a tray of tea and placed it on the coffee table in the corner.

Sturges shook his head and handed the pipboy back to her. "There's nothin' wrong with it that I can see, Molly. I'm gonna head back to the workshop, holler if you need me again."

"Thank you Sturges." Molly took the pipboy from him and clipped it back on her wrist, clicking the transporter button once more. Still nothing.

"What does it mean, General?" Preston asked.

"I don't know, Preston, but it can't be good news. If they think that what happened at Graygarden Homestead was in anyway a deliberate attack by the Minutemen--” Molly’s reluctance to say yes to Shaun’s offer of Director played into her thoughts. Would he think maybe she gave them deliberate orders?"

Preston finished her sentence. "They'd see it as a hostile move. We should mobilize."

Molly nodded, she didn’t want to think they would see it as a hostile act, but precautions were needed. "I agree."

Megan, one of the newer settlers at Sanctuary Hills and the newest recruit to the Minutemen, appeared at the door. "General, sorry to interrupt, but we've had word from the Minutemen in the Capital."

She perked up at possible news from MacCready. "What is it, Megan? A letter?"

"No, word's come through the Brotherhood of Steel, a messenger," Megan replied.

Molly gave a relieved huff, of all the things going wrong, it was good to know that at least the Brotherhood was honoring its agreement. "What's the news?" A degree of hope fluttered in her stomach and it felt like time stood still as she waited for an answer.

"The Minutemen you sent to assist MacCready’s homestead in the Capital arrived, but there was no one there," she said.

A deep wrinkle formed on Molly's brow and her mouth went dry. "What do you mean no one there?” She tried to hide a growing feeling of panic but her hands began to fidget.

"I'm sure it’s nothing serious, General," Preston said.

Molly was conscious of Preston’s grip on the back of her chair and she could  see a tight, worried expression pass over Megan’s face. The glance Megan threw in his direction was the same as the one Preston had given to her as she attempted to stem the flow of blood from Enrico Thompson’s jugular. Bile ascended at the back of her throat once again.

Megan continued. "The homestead, when they arrived-- it was empty--" She glanced towards Preston again then back to Molly. "Except-- except for a dead body."

Molly stood and grabbed Preston's arm, she began to shake. "Whose dead body?"

"They didn't say, they did say it looked like the other homesteaders left in a hurry, though."

Molly's eyes closed and remained closed for longer than a blink. She’d become used to that feeling of terror, when a feral ghoul screams, the roar of a deathclaw up close, the beeping of a mutant suicider or the chattering pedipalps of a giant radscorpian. However, the kind of terror that echoed through her body now, was different. Although her heart still pounded, her hands trembled and layer of sweat beaded over her forehead and palms, the terror that arose from the dangerous threats of the Wasteland could be felled with a well placed bullet, whereas this terror, would cast a long shadow, over the coming months, possibly the rest of her life.

She swallowed and the word _please_ crossed her thoughts. _Please be safe._  

"Maybe they've just gone elsewhere?" Preston asked.

"The Minutemen are in Bigtown. That's the next big settlement along. And the homesteaders aren't there, either. No one seems to know where they've gone," Megan replied.

"Damn," Preston said. "Can we get word back to them?"

"Yes, but it might be slow. Reports say the roads are clogged. Raiders and Talon Mercenaries and the Brotherhood are fighting everywhere along the route. The caravaners are complaining to the Brotherhood and waiting, not wanting to risk the travel. The message said they'd return to the homestead and have a closer look once the road was clear, and assumed that would be approved by you, General."

Molly nodded. "Of course, of course." Confused thoughts clouded her head and she released the iron grip she had placed on Preston's arm. "We've--" She took a deep breath. She glanced up to Preston. "Who's the group leader?"

She could tell by the look in Preston's eyes, he was alarmed as she was, but his voice was steady. "It's Mal Davies. Good man. Experienced."

She turned back to Megan. "If we can get word back to them, ask Mal to keep us informed. If the Brotherhood could relay this. If they can stay there-- just a little longer." Molly said and bit her lip. Her thoughts drifted back to that last letter from MacCready; there was no rush or panic she could read in his words. "Thank you, Megan."

"I'll keep you informed, Ma'am," Megan said and departed.

Preston turned to her. "I'm sure it's okay, Molly, I'm sure-- If I know MacCready--" He took her hand in his. "I'm sure it will be okay."

The gesture from Preston was appreciated, but she couldn’t articulate it currently and instead, she nodded absentmindedly. "I'll get a list together of what we need to do, if-- if uh I can't get this working." A stocktake of weapons, ammo and aid would be needed. A list of available Minutemen and supplies should be documented as well, should they need to travel or camp as a group. Group leaders needed identifying, the most recent list was months old and buried somewhere in amongst other files. They would also need to contact the Castle, to arrange news of the mobilization through Radio Freedom. She lifted her arm with her pipboy and gave him a weak smile.

Preston tilted his head. "I have patrol in ten, um-- do you want me to stay and help?"

Molly waved a still trembling hand. "No. It's fine Preston, I’ll be fine, I got this. When you're done we can discuss what I've put together. If I'm still here of course." She hoped that at some point she could get the transporter working again and fix the mistakes that were made at Graygarden Homestead even if all it took to fix was some blind luck.  

"Okay. Well, if you get to the Institute, good luck, General."

Tension rolled across her neck and shoulders like a snake coiling around sleeping quarry. There would be little she could do to help MacCready, Duncan and the rest of the Homesteaders and the feeling of terror and helplessness returned. She pulled out the two ampoules from inside her top pocket and rolled them between finger and thumb.

* * *

_Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray._

"Settlements-- settlements," she mumbled.

Hammers banged against wood outside the window.

"Bigger settlements-- armory; the Castle, Warwick Homestead, Jamaica Plain--"

Wind carried the sound of a turret.

"Bunker Hill, Taffington Boathouse. Several missile launchers."

Chatter through the window from a group of nearby caravaners and the moo of their Brahmin.

"Small arms; Starlight Drive-In, Outpost Zimonja, Greentop Nursery, The Slog."

Mama Murphy sang an old love song as she passed by.

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

"Excess ammunition; Croup Manor, Nordhagen Beach, Spectacle Island, Warwick Homestead."

The hands of the clock above, ticked with an unrelenting crescendo.

"Medical supplies; Hangman’s Alley, Sanctuary Hills, Red Rocket, Sunshine Tidings."

A glass ampoule cracked and the powder filtered into the cup the same way sand filtered soundlessly through the neck of an hourglass.

"Sanctuary Hills, Sunshine Tidings."

Mustard colored powder dissolved with a gurgle into a sea of murky brown liquid.

"Sunshine Tidings. Sunshine Tidings. Caps. Vase. Table."

A broken, choked sob reverberated around the room. Trembling hands brought a teacup to quivering lips.

"Sanctuary Hills, home, home."

A high-pitched wail and then the splinter of ceramic as it shattered against a hard cement floor. The second ampoule crunched under an angry boot.

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

 


	12. I love the smell of deathclaw dung in the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Homesteaders return and prepare to take back their settlement from the Gunners. MacCready faces an old foe and with it, the fight of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for gore and physical violence in this chapter.

How many times had MacCready pictured _'home'_? Little Lamplight, Bigtown, Megaton, the Homestead, Diamond City, Goodneighbor -- all of those places he had referred to as home in some way or another, some more than others. Little Lamplight because that's where he grew up; Bigtown was where he made his base after leaving Little Lamplight; Megaton because that's where Lucy was; the Homestead because that's where Lucy and Duncan were; Diamond City because that's where he needed to go to procure a job to begin his journey to find a cure; then finally Goodneighbor, the last place that he thought he'd ever call home, the last place that would accept him. No questions asked. Where was home now? Home was where his heart lay, one half in Little Lamplight, the other half four hundred miles away nestled near tranquil hills and a river.

 _‘Home was a safe place for things that you can't afford to lose.’_ He didn’t want to lose Duncan or Molly, her words came back to haunt him and he’d never felt more homesick than right now.

One of those old places he’d called home he was about to fight for, and he wasn't certain how it would all play out.  It was nightfall when he returned to the bunker. The Homesteaders who'd returned with him would spend the night there after arriving back earlier that day.

MacCready tapped on the bunker door. Carol answered, her face bathed in the dull yellow light of a small lantern. She put her finger to her lips. "Trevor and Abdul haven't returned yet. The rest--" She pointed inward to the bunker. "They're all sleeping now, we're all exhausted."

"I'll watch out for their return, Carol. You should have st--"

"Oh, shut it. You all knew I wasn't gonna stay back there. Just cos I'm the oldest. Anyway I’m here now, nothing you can do other than to give me a job to do.” She looked at the sky now gone dark. “Did you see much? Do you know how many we’re up against, RJ?"

He sighed. "I counted five Gunners. Although hard to get a good look at them in the fading light. Oh, yeah, and the dogs."

She sighed. "I hate killing dogs, I really do. Only five-- that's something I guess. Just better damn well pray that there ain't more than that. At least we outnumber them." She looked him up and down. "You gotta be tired, son. You look like a half shut switchblade."

At the mention of being tired, he stifled a yawn. It was as if he’d carried a heavy load, the kind of tired that even a good night’s sleep couldn’t remedy.  "I'm fine. I'll wait for Abdul and Trevor to return from Basket Hill. You go get some sleep."

She nodded, yawned, and disappeared back into the bunker. MacCready stood near the entrance then sat down on the mossy ground and lit a cigarette. Carol was right. The group, eight settlers in total, did outnumber the Gunners, but different Gunner groups were always an unknown and that gave him cause for concern. He’d known some groups of Gunners that never returned from simple jobs, and other jobs he thought were suicide missions, were easily completed. He knew it would do no use to explain to her, or anyone else for that matter, that the two they dealt with earlier could have wiped them all out given a chance. He hoped that when Abdul and Trevor returned from Basket Hill they had some good news to share.

He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the ground, wrapped his arms around himself, and wished he had some paper and a pencil. Since all this began, it had been more than a week since he wrote to Molly, and it would likely be another week before he would get a chance. He'd stuffed the most recent letter from her in a pocket near his heart. A fitting place he thought. Not that writing a letter would get to her; Talon mercenaries, Raiders and Brotherhood soldiers made the roads unsafe for travel and there wasn’t a day passed these last few weeks where a skirmish wasn’t reported by passing traders, now too frightened to travel. With the traders gone, the letters from Molly had stopped too. He hoped she was safe, that everything within the Institute was going well. He found it painful to think on her situation without that feeling of helplessness enveloping him, it was like fighting sleep, something you can’t ignore for long, or wish away-- he could do nothing to help her given her despair on discovering the truth about Shaun, and certainly not from four hundred miles away. This gave rise to an unexpected agitation and he longed for a whiskey, something to help him quiet, but another cigarette would have to do. He pushed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crushed Grey Tortoise pack, and from it, a bent cigarette. "Damn." He ran a finger and thumb along its length to straighten it, but before he had time to light it, a twig cracked in the undergrowth and he dropped it and grabbed his gun.

"Just us, RJ," Abdul said, his voice barely audible despite the quiet.

A relieved laugh gave way to mild annoyance that he’d allowed himself to be distracted from his watch. He stood and picked up the unlit cigarette from the ground placing it back in the packet and back in his pocket. He felt his heart pound against the silent background as he waited for Abdul to speak again.

"There's noone left at Basket Hill."

"You sure?" he replied in a worried tone. He wanted wanted no surprises, he wanted to feel a measure of comfort from Abdul’s words but it didn’t come.

"We saw no lights. When we went down to check it out the place abandoned. How many at the Homestead?" Trevor asked.

"Five, plus two dogs. Couldn't get close enough to get a good look though, there was a dog near the entrance and I had no Deathclaw dung to throw at the beast."

Trevor laughed. "This is gonna be piss easy."

Abdul breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his stance.

MacCready bit his lip and shook his head. Again he held back on voicing his disquiet on the Gunners, he wanted to be practical, telling Abdul and Trevor they were being naive wouldn’t benefit them, Abdul at least still had doubts, and he knew that feeding into that doubt would mean Abdul suggesting they give up entirely. The memory of him and Molly along with Dogmeat taking out a much larger group came to him. "No, it's not gonna be piss easy. I know Gunners. They're brutal. They'll fight. And knowing that we killed one of their own? There'll be no mercy. But-- I think we can do it."

The initial doubt at what they were taking on shrunk with the memory of Winlock and Barnes and the look on Molly's face when it was over. How could he fucking forget that? He knew he needed to go into this fight with the same confidence he had when he’d convinced Molly to help him-- even with Molly being barely able to shoot a damn weapon. He’d been selfish about that, but this was different, and he stood up straighter pulling his shoulders back, if he and Molly could step into a fight against those two skilled assholes, a motley bunch of homesteaders with decent gun skills could get rid of an unwanted infestation of Gunners.

Abdul pulled at the skin of his throat. "So we can't just chase them out then--"

"No," MacCready replied. “You chase ‘em out, more gonna come back. Look I know you’re tired, Abdul. But we can’t just chase them out. There’s only one way. There’s a time to fight and a time to run. We shouldn’t run.”

"We'll just have to kill ‘em all," Trevor added, a note of glee in his voice. MacCready was glad that at least someone else beside him was confident they could do it.

Abdul shook his head. "Fuck."

MacCready put his hand on Abdul's shoulder. "If we plan this, if we do it well enough, we can surprise them. I've done it before with a bigger group and there was only two of us and a dog, mind you we went in stealth, this might be all guns blazing scenario. So let's get some sleep. We can't go into this tired."

Trevor and Abdul nodded in unison and they retired into the bunker.

MacCready lay his head down near Joseph, but thoughts kept drifting back to that safe place for someone he couldn't afford to lose. He closed his eyes.

* * *

The group sat in a huddled mass inside the bunker, too small for the eight of them, discussing the plan they had laid out partly the day before. The first thing needed was to take out any one on watch, preferably as quietly as possible. If alarms were set off too soon, the dogs would react and the Gunners alerted to their presence. If anyone else other than the dogs came to investigate, MacCready and Carol would be ready to take the second shot if needed.

MacCready had managed to find a silencer for his sniper rifle, but not for Carol's. "You should take this silencer, Carol. Otherwise you'll be the first to draw attention." He held it out to her.

She pushed it back against him. "MacCready, my aim isn't as good as yours, you know that silencer is gonna send my sight askew, you can compensate at least and you’re taking the first shot. I'll be fine; I can climb the tree high enough and I'll stay there."

He shook his head. "You'll also be a target."

"You know I'm a good shot. I'm wearing Khaki they won't see me and my eyesight is still damn good." She reached down and pulled out a camouflaged coat with a hood.

He had to admit that it would blend in and she was a good enough shot that she'd be able to see and shoot anyone within her sights. “Carol, you gotta listen--”

  
She put her hand up to silence him. “RJ, you got the plan, it's gonna work, I can see you, worrying about everyone. Don’t worry about me. I don’t need the silencer.”

He knew there’d be no further argument he could make to convince her otherwise so he sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

Abdul, Trevor, and Gabriella would be the vanguard for any frontal assault at the gate, and they dressed themselves in as much heavy armor as was comfortable. Joseph and David would enter the Homestead from the farm's gated entrance at the rear. Before the Homestead left for Little Lamplight, they'd removed key components from the turrets and from the robotron they had inherited from a nearby weigh station. They'd hidden the robotron under one of the houses so unless the Gunners found it and reset the turrets again, there would be no issue coming in from that direction. Aiden, being the most tech savvy of the homestead, was to retrieve the robotron and have it guard what was the greenkeeper’s caravan; that would be the fall back point for both Joseph and the others, should things go wrong. When MacCready had scouted earlier the previous evening, there had been only one guard and a dog at the gate.

MacCready could feel the tension in the bunker as they loaded weapons and strapped extra ammo to their arms and legs and fastened pouches to belts and small packs across their backs.

He witnessed a facade of calm but he'd not felt this amount of distress in a group since he left the Gunners. Occasionally, before a big job he’d had a moment, where nervousness might hit him, but he distracted himself by planning his tactics and how he might react given different scenarios. Being a sniper gave him the luxury of distance but that didn’t mean close fighting never happened, he just needed to be practical about it, no point being anxious, better to be prepared.

Conversations amongst the group were limited to 'here', 'can you hand me that', 'some extra ammo', 'let me tighten that strap on that armor piece'. He removed his duster and placed a lightweight armor piece over his chest and arms. He wiggled around trying to make it loose enough that he wouldn’t have restricted movement, nothing pissed him off more in combat when he felt weighed down. When he was done, he hovered by the bunker door watching the others.

Carol stood nearby, furtively looking to everyone, then her watch, then back around the room. MacCready glanced at his wrist. It was almost eight, and the sun, usually low in the sky this time of year, had only been up for an hour. To make things difficult, a sudden chill had come down during the night. The vague sensation of warmth he'd last night rapidly dissipated.

Abdul exhaled, fog came from the heat in his breath and he clapped his hands. "Alright everyone, ready?"

Everyone nodded.

"Let's go reclaim our home."

The words hit MacCready like a bullet. He might not consider the Homestead his permanent home, he knew he’d have to leave, but he cared for the people here. The Homestead was was the next best thing to home and it was time he paid his dues to the people who’d cared for Duncan. “Let’s do it,” he huffed.

"Don't step in the Deathclaw shit on the way," Trevor said and laughed.

Gabriella let out a heaving sigh. "Trevor-- ahhh, never mind. Come on, dumb ass."

Murmurs followed as they headed towards the settlement. The group stopped, and MacCready led Carol around near the front of the gate and to the vantage point he'd picked out for her. She looked at the tree and to him. "Really? Little high, ain't it?"

"Good vantage point. And you'll be safe."

"RJ-- perhaps a little closer would be--"

He set his jaw and ignored her pleading. "You want to get closer to the action but going a little further up a tree to give you more of a vantage point AND keep you safer has you worried?”

“Ahh, point taken, still--”

“Get up in the damn tree, Carol." He boosted her up and watched carefully as she settled into position. “Right?” She returned a thumbs up and lifted her hood over her head.

He crouched and crept over to his own vantage point; a little further forward and off to the side of the gate. It was close enough he could see the Abdul and the others also squatting and creeping closer.

He climbed the second tree and wedged himself tightly between the branches. He looked through the scope of his sniper rifle towards Abdul, who gave a signal wave. From this height, he could also see well into the Homestead grounds, a much better view in daylight than the previous evening.

There was one Gunner at the gate and on the other side of the settlement he could see two more sitting on a bench, eating and drinking, along with one of the dogs. There would be no way to fell the Gunner at the guard point and not alert the others. He hoped that Carol at least had the others in her sights. He'd have to shoot and reload as quickly as he could to target at least one of the second ones. He took a deep breath and signalled with a wave that he was ready.

He looked through the scope and took a closer look at the Gunners sitting and eating.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed. "Davey Nichols. You fucking asshole."

* * *

_I like it, a lot, a real, real lot. Lucy's words had bounced around his head all the way back to base camp, that and the farewell she had given him. Damn shame he had to leave her bed and come back to this shit hole. However, caps were caps and even though the constant travel from the Commonwealth back to Megaton was annoying as hell, he'd do it in a heartbeat, knowing she was at one end of that journey and caps at the other. Damn if it wasn't the best decision to grow this beard. He thought he appeared older, wiser, yeah definitely wiser, and Lucy liked it so much she couldn't keep her hands off it. He turned his head side to side. "Fucking good idea," he said quietly and gave a low chuckle._

_"What ya laughing at, Reedy?"_

_His forehead hit the mirror. Davey Nichols had walked into the bathroom of their temporary barracks and slapped him hard on the back, wiping the satisfied smile from MacCready's face. "Ow, what the fu--" He turned and scowled at the larger man standing next to him._

_"Fuck, MacCready, don't stare too long at the mirror. You and those fucked up teeth of yours are gonna make the thing crack."_

_MacCready's forehead creased with anger. "Fuck off, Nichols," he replied._

_Since joining this particular group of Gunners, MacCready had faced one of the biggest assholes he'd ever met-- Davey Nichols. Not only was he a sadistic fuck, interested particularly in harming anyone who showed the slightest vulnerability, but since he'd heard MacCready had a girl back in Megaton, he'd been constantly ribbing him about his appearance. His teeth and his wiry frame was a constant source of mirth for Nichols. MacCready knew his teeth were bad, a childhood full of nothing but unrestrained sweet temptations had done that, but it still irked him when people mentioned it. MacCready had ignored him at first, until one night in the mess one of the other Gunners had bought up 'MacCready's hole in the ground' -- meaning Lucy._

_He went face to face with the Gunner that said it. "You know, Sully, I heard your birth certificate is an apology from the Jimmy Hats factory, I hope you find some solace in that." MacCready gave him a faux smile and watched him scratch his head in confusion. He could see the cogs turning in Sully's head and laughed._

_"Hey-- you got a-- a mouth on you for a midget, MacCready," he replied and turned his head nodding as though it was the greatest comeback ever._

_MacCready tilted his head to the side, amused that somehow he was supposed to think that this was some sort of insult, something he'd not heard a million times before. He'd learned that a prudent man overlooks an insult, especially from a fool twice his size, but then he couldn't resist tormenting the more stupid Gunners when they tried. He'd avoided being beat up by just letting the morons think they had the upper hand._

_He put a hand on his heart. "Ouch, that hurts, sooo much. Why would you say such a thing? I mean, that's just mean." He put on a frown._

_For a moment Sully looked confused again, a deep furrow appeared on his pasty colored face. "Well, I--" The other Gunners behind him began to laugh. "Oh, fuck you, MacCready," he replied when he realized they were laughing at him._

_The reaction had attracted the attention of Nichols, and it appeared to MacCready, since then, he was making a pointed effort to try and see how far he could push him, especially in regard to Lucy. For the most part, MacCready had kept his head low and only gave others mouth when one of the more idiotic Gunners bothered him. However, he'd seen the cruelty at the hands of Nichols and now he was the target, he wasn't sure how to manage the situation. He didn't care what he said about him, he did care about what he said about Lucy, and he attempted to keep any information about her at arm’s length._

_"So, that butt fluff you're growing, for the hole in the ground?"_

_MacCready ignored him and began to walk out._

_"You know, MacCready, I hear Megaton's a really good place to go for medical treatment. Hear they have some very caring staff."_

_He froze, turned and stared at Nichols; the smirk plastered across the man's face was chilling and goose bumps rose on the back of MacCready's neck. He could see it in Nichols’ eyes that he knew more than anything MacCready had ever said about Lucy. The bastard had been spying on him, or worse, spying on Lucy. He’d seen the Gunner hierarchy watch at a distance Nichols behaviour, they didn’t care if he’d pissed others off, he’d been careful to pick his targets and Gunners like MacCready, despite his valued skill, weren’t on their radar as ‘people you shouldn’t piss off’.  He swallowed hard weighing up his options, to say nothing or threaten Nichols. He opted for a third. "So I hear, but I wouldn't know." He walked out to the sound of a malevolent chuckle behind him._

* * *

Right at this moment, he was tempted just to shoot Nichols and forgo the Gunner patrolling near the gate, but instead held the buzz of revenge in check. He moved his sight from one of the ramparts to the other and gave a low chortle. "Three little Gunners shitting up the bed, one jumped up--" He took a breath, aimed, paused and fired. "And I shot his fucking head." The shot took out the gunner guard swiftly and he fell back over the guard railing and disappeared from view. He quickly reloaded and could see the Nichols and the other Gunner cross the courtyard. The other Gunner began yelling. A shot came from Carol's direction and he could see she managed to hit only the man’s shoulder. His pulse quickened as took and held another breath, stilled, aimed at Nichols head and fired the second shot, It missed as he was fast enough to duck and roll off to the side. Nichols then stood and shouted as well. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

The man Carol shot was lying on the ground and he could hear his screams and squeals. MacCready loaded and fired, silencing the Gunner. He watched as the other Gunners came running from a nearby building. A man he hadn't noticed from earlier also emerged. "Shit, shit." That would make six Gunners, one he’d missed. “Fuck.” He’d been tired and the only one to scout the previous night, he should have asked someone else to come with him, he wouldn’t have messed up. However, there was no time for blame, he’d have plenty of time for that that later and especially if it came down to that one missed Gunner. He aimed for another advancing Gunner, but a smoke bomb went off before he could hold his breath and fire. He took the shot anyway and watched when the smoke cleared that he’d hit the man in the side. By this time, there was more shouting as Joseph and David began their distraction from the rear of the Homestead.

He watched as Abdul and Trevor hoisted Gabriella over the fence. As soon as the gate opened, there was more smoke and he could no longer see clearly through his scope. He jumped down from his spot in the tree and ran towards Carol’s position. "Carol there’s a sixth Gunner, I’m gonna warn the others. Keep me in sight for as long as you can and watch my back. I’m gonna head up to the second story of the hall."

"You got it. Go get those fuckers," she replied.

MacCready ran and yelled, "There's six, there's six!" as he shadowed the more heavily protected frontal assault team. When inside the Homestead, he separated from the group, headed into the meeting hall, and ran upstairs for his next vantage point as the rest of the group ran forward and into cover behind the first small home. He could see the remaining Gunners who had ducked behind the temporary housing blocks. He took several pot shots but missed. He could hear Trevor's roar and more gunshots but couldn't see anything through more clouds of smoke. He heard the whimper of a dog and another man screaming, a Gunner. He took out his shotgun, swung his sniper rifle over his back, and ran back down the stairs.

A barrage of gunfire and smoke greeted him as he exited, with several smoke grenades tossed in his direction. He could hear the crack of Carol's sniper rifle behind him, but with all this smoke, she'd have no choice but to stay back or dump her gun and move into the mass of gunfire and smoke from the compound.

He heard a whistling sound as a spray of ammo came close to his ear and he moved to the side not sure how close the bullets came. Trevor and Gabriella moved forward ducking between homes, Abdul moved in behind. Trevor dove into the cover of the mutfruit orchard and MacCready lost sight of him again. He stepped back and squeezed between the meeting hall and the Homestead bathroom’s wall, the space small enough for his thin frame. He took small quiet steps and as he neared the playground cubby house, he heard the shuffle of someone inside. He couldn't be sure if it was a Gunner or Trevor at this stage so he plastered his ear the metal and wood wall. He could see through several gaps but all he could make out was the back of someone’s head, the same color hair as Trevor. Then the man laughed, and he knew it wasn't Trevor. He counted silently as he tried to gage the exact placement of the Gunner and the best place to aim the shotgun for maximum effect. "Okay," he mouthed to himself and gave two rounds into a slit between two wood panels. The wood splintered easily and the Gunner behind shouted and fell forward onto the cubby house floor. MacCready could hear him lying on the ground writhing. He reloaded and sent two more through the now larger gap. He peered through the gaping hole; the Gunner was dead, buried in a mountain of teddy bears. At least three Gunners, maybe four and one dog were down. He gave a satisfied grunt. He looked through the gap and through cubby house open door to see Trevor creeping under the schoolhouse and around the back of his and Duncan's home. He tried to kick a hole through the wood but it wouldn't move and the only other gap was too small for him to fit, he'd have to go back out the way he came. Smoke still drifted across the Homestead clearing and he could hear more gunshots and yelling. Gabriella’s holler of ‘one down’ to Abdul and more gunshots echoed through the open space. One maybe two Gunners and a dog left, he hoped that from the farm entrance, Joseph and Aiden hadn’t encountered too much trouble.

When he emerged, he didn't see the butt of gun come out from the smoke. His cheek bore the brunt and he could taste blood in his mouth. A second smack across the chin hit him hard, disorientating him. His shotgun fell to the ground and a large boot kicked it away. He fell back against the side of the meeting hall and looked up dazed from the assault to see the man staring at him, mouth agape. MacCready narrowed his eyes as he tried to focus on him. The man laughed and a cold shudder reached the pit of his stomach.

"Reedy, you little fucking turd."

* * *

_His lips dragged across the nape of her neck and she giggled and gave a small shiver. It had been more than two months since he'd last been in Megaton. Seven weeks and six days too long for him. "I missed you, Luce," he said between kisses. His mouth moved to her chin, cheek, and her plump lips._

_She pressed herself tight against him as his hands pulled her shirt from inside her pants, and he touched the soft flesh of her stomach. He heard her gulp and she pushed him away. He stood back, a hurt look on his face, to see her chewing on her bottom lip, her dark brown eyes wide, and dressed with hint of anxiety. He tilted his head. "Something wrong?" he asked with a concerned tone._

_She shifted awkwardly. "Not exactly, but uh-- uh--"_

_Panic hit him. Since that asshole Davey Nichols had hinted that he knew Lucy, he'd barely had a moment’s rest worrying about it. Nichols had alluded further to the fact he knew who she was, any chance he had. The thought that he knew anything about her made MacCready sick to the stomach. Every time he was in earshot, Nichols would mention Megaton. He'd talk about how you could have a good time there, how pretty the girls were, even those on the take, how much he liked brown-eyed girls, especially. Whenever the topic was mentioned, he made efforts to stare MacCready down. He'd actively avoided Nichols, if only to avoid thoughts about his hands around the larger man’s neck. He could do little until he hit another furlough, and after two months, he acquired enough leave. He didn't wait for daylight before he left for Megaton, no time to waste, he needed to make sure Lucy was safe and that she wouldn’t find out about his place in the Gunners._

_"What is it, Luce? Is someone following you? Someone bothering you? Giving you trouble?"_

_Lucy's brow furrowed. "RJ, uh no. What are you talking about?"_

_MacCready gave her a weak smile. "It's nothing Luce, just, you know I worry about you when I'm not around."_

_"Yeah, I know. But it's okay, no one’s bothering me, and sending one of your friends to say hello was a sweet touch."_

_A knot hit his stomach. Friend. MacCready didn't have 'friends' certainly not amongst other Gunners. "Who was that?"_

_She pursed her lips. "Dave? Or something like that."_

_"Davey. When was this?" His voice turned serious._

_"I don't know, a month ago. He knocked on the door said he just wanted to say hi, said you talked about me a lot. I asked if he'd like to come in for a coffee but he said he had to be elsewhere and he was just making sure I was okay on your behalf." She stepped closer and ran her hand over his beard. “I like your beard."_

_MacCready grabbed her hands. "Was that the only time?"_

_Lucy’s eyes widened. "Yes. That was the only time. What's gotten into you, RJ? Wasn't he a friend?"_

_He ignored the question. "That was the only time right? Did you see his face?" he repeated, now he was also worried that maybe she’d seen his Gunner tattoo on his head and given him away._

_She shifted from one foot to the other and nodded. "Yes, yes. He was wearing a hat I didn’t get a good look at his face. Should I be concerned, RJ?"_

_"No," he lied and gritted his teeth not sure his fear about what had happened could be hidden from her for too long. He'd no choice but to deal with Nichols on his return. He’d dealt with the mockery by ignoring it, but this was something else, this was a direct threat and the only way to deal with those was to eliminate them. How he’d do that, he wasn’t sure, it might mean shadowing him, sniping from a distance; he sure as hell couldn’t kill him back at the barracks._

_She returned to biting her lip and her brow rose. "Well, if you're sure, I have something to tell you."_

_He shook his head. "Yeah, sorry didn't mean to startle you, just--" He drew her in close and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I missed you. What is it?"_

_"I'm-- I'm pregnant."_

_His mouth fell open. "What? How?"_

_A hurt expression marred her smile. "That wasn't quite the response I expected."_

_He realized how callous the reply came across. Davey Nichols and his appearance at Lucy's door in Megaton still occupied his mind. He drew her in again and gave a nervous smile, not sure what to say. A father, shit , what about caps, how was he going to support her and a baby? She’d managed to look after herself just fine, their incomes were independent and the discussion of managing them together had never arisen. Lucy’s job as a medic in Megaton Clinic meant she could afford a place to live and have some meagre savings. Still, she earned far more caps than he did, and it would mean he’d have to start saying yes to the bigger, more unpalatable jobs, stop wasting it on whiskey and cigarettes and it would mean he’d be away from her more than he ever was before. And fuck, what if Nichols found out he had a kid too? His head filled with ‘what ifs’, ‘maybes’ and doubts about what he could do, what he could be. "Sorry, Luce. What did you expect then?"_

_"I'm not sure what I expected. I guess. But if you're upset--" Her voice quivered and he sensed she was about to cry._

_"Hey, hey no. I'm not upset. Surprised. A little overwhelmed maybe." He was still processing what she was telling him, a parent? At eighteen? They'd been careful, as careful as they could for two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other, but even he had to admit their eagerness to make love at the drop of hat -- or the lack of a hat as a the case may be -- was likely to lead to this at some point. "I'd never be upset. Not with you." He kissed her and an idea navigated from his brain to his mouth and before he could stop himself, he blurted out his proposal. "Let's-- let's get out of here. Let's go to Diamond City. I hear there's a chapel there." The impulse decision might not have been the best suggestion but it was all that he could say in response to the revelation about Nichols, the revelation that Lucy was pregnant. In his mind, currently racing, it was the right thing to do._

_Her mouth fell open. "What are you saying, RJ? You want to get married?"_

_He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I think we should do that. Leave Megaton and have a vacation in Diamond City. Get married."_

_Lucy started crying. "RJ--"_

_He grimaced, worried that she wasn’t prepared for such a suggestion, that what raced through his mind about what he could earn and how he might support her -- she doubted him too. And in the end maybe it was a rushed and foolish idea. "Why you crying, Luce? You wanna marry me? Don't you?" He thought he must have appeared like a kicked puppy._

_Her hand went to his beard and she nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do." Her voice was soft and quiet and she kissed his cheek._

_The hurt puppy frown turned into a smug smile. "Then it's easy, get your caps, get your gear. We're going to Diamond City." And we're gonna put some distance between us and this place. "But first--" He kissed her and led her without protest into the small bedroom._

* * *

He could barely see Nichols face amongst the smoke but he could hear him and his deranged laughter.

"Never thought I'd see you again, Reedy," he chuckled.

"I could say the same. In fact I hoped you were long dead." He spat a mouthful of spittle and bloody drool followed. He remembered the palpable relief he'd felt when he returned to camp after their trip to Diamond City to find Nichols had been stationed elsewhere. A contingent from his unit had gone south to Jacksonville; a response by Gunner hierarchy to try and infiltrate other mercenary groups along the coast.

"Tut tut. No need for that, certainly not when it's me who has the upper hand.” He pulled out a small gun and twirled it in his fingers. “Not gonna waste my shotgun ammo, this little 10mm should do the trick." He snorted a laugh. "Plus I think it will take longer for you to die with lots of little holes rather than one big one." Before MacCready could react Nichols cocked the gun and shot him the lower leg.

MacCready yelped like a stray dog as he felt the sting of the bullet tear through his calf muscle. His leg went numb under him and he collapsed to the ground. Stars appeared across his field of vision and nausea hit his gut.

Nichols bent down and pulled at MacCready's top pocket. "What's this?"

He reached up to try and grab what Nichols had removed.

Nichols yanked it out of reach and unfurled the paper, the letter from Molly that MacCready had kept close. He began to read it aloud, keeping the pistol aimed at MacCready's head. "'Dearest Mac--' ooh a letter from your sweetheart maybe--"

MacCready winced with pain as his calf muscle went into spasm.

"'Every day you're away I realize how badly I want you to return, how I want your hands on me, your lips on mine, your breath at the nape of my neck.' Oh man, your gal in Megaton has a way with words, don't she?" He stopped reading aloud but his eyes continued to scan the letter. "OOOh wait, this isn't your little brown-eyed girl in Megaton, is it, Reedy? Who's Molly? What happened to-- what was her name?"

He refused to answer the question until Nichols moved his boot and pressed on the bullet wound in his leg. MacCready howled, the throbbing in his leg amplified by the pressure of Nichols foot over the wound. "What was her name?"

“Fu--fuck you,” he rasped.

Nichols pressed harder and the pain made him gasp and his lips trembled with exaggerated breaths. “Her name, Reedy.”

The pain was at the threshold that he could take and he shuddered. "Lu-- Lucy. Her name was Lucy--" he stuttered.

Nichols removed his boot. "So what happen to her, what happened to cutie Lucy, she dump you?"

MacCready fidgeted and winced, fleeting panic hit his gut when he saw Nichols lift his boot again. "She's fucking dead, alright."

"Ahh, pity. I should have taken her up on that offer to come inside. If you get my meaning." He gave another deranged chuckle, shrugged and cocked his gun towards MacCready again. "So who's Molly? Is she as pretty as Lucy? Should I visit--" He turned the letter over in his hand. "Sanctuary Hills settlement, Commonwealth." He nodded. "Mmm, I could pay my respect to those mourning the dead. Offer comfort."

MacCready felt the heat of anger rise up his throat. He bared his teeth and his muscles kicked out with his other leg in an effort to destabilize the larger man, but Nichols was too fast and pushed him away. MacCready then turned over and crawled towards the stairs leading up to the porch of the Homestead meeting hall, if he could get into the Hall he might find something to use as a weapon, anything he could lay his hands on. Nichols didn't stop him but laughed as he attempted to pull himself up step by step MacCready’s wounded leg dragging behind. Nichols followed and hooted. "You're not getting away, MacCready. It's kind of fitting seeing you crawl around though, you were always a cockroach, scurrying away when the light turned on, hiding in some camouflaged spot far away from where the real men fought. The Gunners were always weaker for having people like you around.”

Nichols kicked him hard in the ass and MacCready lurched forward, the chest plate he wore made a clanking noise as he hit the top of the step. He kept crawling, expecting a gunshot to hit him again, instead Nichols kicked at the bullet wound and he heaved out a cry when the pain shot up his leg. When he reached the top, he leaned his back against the board that served as a side rail and let out an exhausted whimper. He couldn’t crawl further, there was no abatement to the pain and his discomfort was at a maximum, _so this is the end, this is how I die_. He pondered on the whereabouts of the other Homesteaders, likely gone further into the Homestead grounds, he could hear the distant racket of gunfire and shouting but it sounded far away. The Homesteaders were good people, he hoped they could bring down the remaining Gunners, it was too late for him. They’d make sure Duncan was cared for, that he could have some sort of life with Stephi and Abdul. Then there was Molly, his Molly, in his short adult life he’d fucked up so many times, but when she turned up, things turned around, she made him want to be a better person, something he’d tried and failed at after Lucy died. He was a better man, a better father for having had her in his life.

Nichols squatted down next to him. "By the way, I'm gonna kill all the Homesteaders here. But you I should save you till last.” MacCready could see Nichols twirling his tongue in his mouth and licking his lips."Does it hurt, Reedy?"

MacCready let out a resigned laugh and Nichols punched him in the nose. He saw stars and his head hit the wood behind him. His nose started bleeding and he blinked the tears from his eyes.He always thought that working for the Gunners was risky business, that he’d die trying to make caps. He never considered he’d die being on the other side of the fight. At least he’d go out fighting for something more than caps, something priceless, something you can’t afford to lose.

"Hurts now I bet," Nichols said and bought out a flick knife.

Blood flowed into MacCready's mouth and he choked out a pained sob as Nichols ground the barrel of the pistol into his leg wound. With the other hand he skimmed the knife down MacCready's cheek and around his mouth then down along his throat. "I could just cut your throat now, but there's no fun in that. So Reedy, what you been up too? I guess a lot more than just your girlfriend dying. Up in the Commonwealth hey? What brings you back here? Friends? Family?"

MacCready stiffened involuntarily at the mention of family.

"Family? You got family here? Does your girlfriend know? Oh of course she does. She misses you.” He let out an exaggerated kissing noise. “What you got here worth coming all this way? A sister? A kid?"

He spat blood into Nichols face and a grimace fell across the unhinged Gunner. He punched MacCready in the face again and bone crunched underneath his pulverized nose.

By this stage, MacCready was heading into delirium. He knew that he'd entered the second stage of shock, he’d learned from the best. Oxygen deprivation to his brain sent him into a spiral of confusion: where was he? Sanctuary Hills? Goodneighbor? Or was this Medtek? If he didn't get medical attention soon, he'd be dead, not that it mattered to Nichols, whose attempt to draw out this extended torture would likely end his pain if MacCready passed out. The urge to continue the fight surged, the pain was numbing his senses,  a last gasp effort was all he had left in him; he buried his previous resignation, endured the remnants of agony he could still feel, made a fist and lurched forward, but Nichols held his fist in his hand. A sharp pain hit his shoulder but he was too numb to react. Nichols flick knife had pinned Molly's letter to his shoulder.

Blood trickled through the words on the dull brown paper; he didn't need to see the letter to know what it said. That she loved him; that she hoped he was safe, that the world wouldn't be cruel enough to take one more thing from her. He laughed, not at her words, or her fear, but for the fact there was nothing else he could do. Best get this over with, go to his death thinking about the one person that had kept him motivated to do the right thing, the one person who loved him despite his faults. He heard the click of Nichols’ gun and shouting in the background. It sounded like Carol’s voice, and a myriad of other voices he didn't recognize. The other Gunners or Homesteaders?

He could smell Deathclaw dung, but didn't hear the scream of the man who suddenly stood up in front of him, legs dangling in front of his face were a blur he couldn’t recognise, nor did he hear the roar that followed. MacCready passed out, thinking of Sanctuary Hills and Molly.

 


	13. Dulce et decorum est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and the Minutemen prepare to fightback when the Institute begin their retaliation for the actions at Graygarden Homestead. Before the big battle, she has time to reflect on her losses since leaving the vault, and the decisions that changed her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori' is translated as 'It is sweet and proper to die for one's country'. In the context of this chapter-- the imagery of the battle within the Institue is heavily influenced by Wilfred Owens WW1 poem 'Dulce et decorum est' -- whereupon he showed us the horrific consequences of war. And as we all know by now, war never changes.
> 
> (thankyou to my ever faithful Beta thievinghippo and also to inquisitor_tohru and solas-you-nerd for allowing me to sound out the trickier scene in this chapter)

"How many now, Preston?" Molly asked with a sigh, running her hand across her brow.

"At last account, twelve settlements have reported unprovoked attacks by synths, and humans that turned out to be synths."

A clatter of dropped weapons reverberated down the hall of Minutemen House in Sanctuary Hills, causing Preston to duck his head around the office corner before turning back to Molly who was pacing the room. She hadn't wanted the conflict at Graygarden Homestead to end this way-- attacks on settlements purely because they were allied with the Minuteman. "Damn."

"It's not going to stop, General. It's been four days and it only appears to be escalating. One of the last messages was from Sommerville Place, they're slaughtering children, this is low blow, they expect us to sit by and take it? If you didn’t think they were the bad guys before they’ve revealed themselves to have less than the Commonwealth's best interests at heart.” He shook his head. “The Castle barely made it out of that attack, they only got by thanks to those guns. Sure got Ronnie pissed off."

She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her closed lids. Her stomach lurched when she thought of the Krieger family at Sommerville Place. "I think we've waited long enough. The Castle knows what we're planning?"

He nodded. "We got through to them this morning. They're not broadcasting that information publicly of course, in case the Institute hears it.” He turned and pulled some paper from his pocket handing it to her. “This is the list of outlying settlements reached so far and the Castle is now issuing warnings asking people to be wary of strangers and to watch out for further attacks.”

Molly read the list aloud. Out of the twenty eight settlements now aligned with the Minutemen, more than two thirds had been contacted. “Okay that’s good, we need to make sure they all know.”

He nodded. “Our runners should reach the remaining settlements in the next  twelve hours. When do you want to start the push?"

She put her fist to her mouth, a strike back meant war, and that also meant more lives would be lost. If the Institute had only allowed her to explain, and not react so damn quick they wouldn’t be in this situation, it wouldn’t be on her to make such a decision. "The earliest I think we can organize is tomorrow. Maybe midday at the C.I.T ruins for the rendezvous. That will give enough time for our runners to get messages out and for the groups to make their way to the camp on the outskirts-- also for me to get to Diamond City and retrieve some gear. I don’t know what kind of hazards we might face trying to come in through the back door."

She closed her eyes again; she'd not returned to Homeplate for a while, and the thought of going back there, to a place she knew would be full of memories of MacCready made her feel ill. There’d been no news on that front since she'd first heard days prior.  No one had said it aloud, but she knew what everyone was thinking. That MacCready was most likely dead, and Duncan too. As much as she wanted to grieve, she pushed the thought down, trying to isolate herself from the reality, knowing that at some point a wave of emotion would hit and topple her over. She wanted anger to come to the forefront, at least with that she could channel it as best she could. There were people depending on her, people to protect from harm. "I want that list of items I know that are at the settlements, that extra ammo and equipment you gave to the runners. Get some here too, Sturges tells me we’re low on shotgun and .36 rounds as well as frag grenades. Bring a quarter of the cache here the other to Hangman's Alley, we'll stockpile them in the clinic there and pick them up on the way through."

"There's room at Hangman’s Alley?" Preston asked.

"Yes. Since Doc Martin left and we have yet to replace him, people have been using it as boarding house instead of a clinic. It might be a good place to fall back to, given there’s also a large consignment of medical aid there too. Locked away." She’d try and hit Diamond City for extra supplies, her modded double barrell was waiting for her at Homeplate and if needed she’d hit the traders in the morning. "Any word from Roger?"

"Not since he agreed to go into the Institute for you and relay that message." Preston huffed out an incredulous laugh. "I had no idea Roger was a synth."

"Nobody did. Except myself and Deacon. But as long as he gets in contact with Liam Benet for me, then we'll have some push back from the other side once we get inside the Institute." It was a calculated risk, sending an Institute synth spy and settler replacement to do a job for her. It had been Deacon's suggestion that she send him back to contact Patriot and he was the only current ‘friendly’ they had who could do a job like that.

"As long as he doesn't rat us out, General."

She shook her head. "He won’t. And aside from the Castle, the attacks are random and opportunistic." She laid a hand on Preston’s arm. "I know you think it was a risky move. But I'm convinced it will work."

Preston chewed on his lower lip. "Well, if that's what you think, General. I'd put my life in your hands, you know it."

Hearing these words after his betrayal from previous Minutemen allies gave Molly a measure of confidence-- she hoped that his trust was well placed, the last thing she wanted to do was fail the people she stood with. She felt tears well up behind her eyelids. "Thank you, Preston, I needed to hear that."

He tilted his head as though he wished to ask more, but simply nodded. "I'll start organizing the groups here. Anyway, the plans we got from the data tapes did the job nicely. Sturges has found a way in-- and it might be our only way out too, but there's a lot of Minutemen and by the sounds, a lot of bottlenecks.”

Molly paused and ran her fingers over her bottom lip. “Can he mobilize what he needs in the next few hours and get the teleporter up and working? We could get out the same way I got to the Institute to begin with. We should have more than enough Minutemen to watch his back.”

“You know Sturges, he’ll be up for that challenge.”

"Good. Time to take the fight to them. If they're going to try and crush us, I won't stand by and watch my settlers be slaughtered. Not on my watch."  Her voice was modulated and controlled. Preston nodded and left the room.

She thought of Shaun, sick and dying in his sanitized prison. That's what she needed to think to make her plan feel rational, bringing the Institute down was the only way to circumvent the impasse they'd reached. She tapped her foot in annoyance at the thought of her failed negotiations. When the attack on the Castle came so swiftly after the Greygarden Homestead fiasco, she had no choice. Even with the plans that could lead her back into the Institute without the teleporter, it was likely she'd no longer be welcome and attacked on sight. There would likely be no reasoning with them now.

Even though Shaun was a willing participant of the Institutes actions for many years, he was still her son. The much wanted child of Molly and Nate Gould, they had struggled to bring him into their world and who would be forever cherished by them.  “So this is how it will end,” she whispered and bowed her head. “This is how--” she repeated.

Molly walked over to the filing cabinet in the corner, it was where she placed her small carry bag-- the one she used to keep spare caps and her personal items close. She searched through the front pocket and bought out a bent and faded photo-- Shaun as a baby resting on Nate’s stomach, both asleep and peaceful. She swallowed back a gasp. She hadn’t looked at the picture in a long time. She wiped at the tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes and placed the photo back in the bag.

This was the Institute’s fault, not hers, not Shauns. In its desire to advance the human race they had robbed her of all what a mother and son relationship could be. It robbed her of the choices she would have made for him as a parent; to help shape him, mold him, not necessarily in her or Nate’s image, but to have the values and concerns that she and Nate embodied as people. When he’d told her he was dying she hoped that she might be with him until the end, spend time with him until his last gasp. She had wanted to hold his hand, tell him that she would always love him. Now she would pre-empt his death, she would be the spearhead of all the Commonwealth’s fear and righteous anger. This war she was about to enable would kill her son and there was only one thing to blame.

Molly balled her hands into tight fists. “The Institute will crumble under the Minutemen fist.” _Her_ fist. Their fate was predestined the moment they took him from Nate's arms.

* * *

 It was dark by the time Molly reached Diamond City and all the stores were closed. The thought of her stepping over the threshold to an empty Homeplate with so many memories of MacCready cast her spirits down. She headed to the All Faiths Chapel, off the main market.

Inside, only one person sat in the pews, head bowed in quiet meditation. Pastor Clements was absent from his pulpit and only a few candles burned in his stead at the small wooden platform that served as an altar. She sat down, put her bag at her feet, took her hat off, and placed it by the empty space beside her. The man in prayer behind her stood and left the chapel, leaving her alone. Molly wasn't religious, she'd never been a church regular, it was only Nate, whose family and faith had put stock in the divine that had influenced any thought she had of prayer or religious contemplation. What was she seeking? Acceptance of what was to come? A prayer for the future for her and MacCready’s unborn child? Or something else? She couldn't say. She shifted uncomfortably in the pew, not sure she should have come in.

She bowed her head and thoughts of the last week-- of the last eighteen months clouded her mind. Instead of avoiding the inevitable memories of her loved ones, thoughts of them came flooding back to her. Nate was dead, MacCready likely, too and her head hung lower at that thought, of being alone once more. Tomorrow they'd advance on the Institute, bring it down from the inside. This time tomorrow, unless he came out with the Minutemen, something she knew he never agree to, Shaun would be dead as well. Her hand ran over her stomach. She had this at least. This would be where her future would lay, as selfish as she thought to bring a child into a Wasteland was, where death and destruction reigned, she needed it. It would be the last piece of an old life, one small piece of MacCready to hold on to. Her choice was to live, her choice to make the future as she saw fit.

A creeping sensation welled up inside her. A chill from the toes crept up until it hit her fingertips. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them spill silently upon the chapel floor. Quiet sobs wracked her body and she wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. She sat and let herself cry, let the weight of what had happened to her-- to those she loved, fall from her, like a dam breaking after one too many cracks in its edifice.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

She didn't know how long she'd been crying, ten-- twenty minutes maybe, when the dulcet tones of Pastor Clements made her sit up straight, take a deep breath before sniffing and hiding her face. "I'm-- I'm sorry, Pastor, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You weren't disturbing me. Molly, isn't it?"

She felt her face flush with embarrassment, wiped her nose and face as best she could, and gave a long drawn out sniff. She turned her face to  up to his, sure her eyes were puffy and red. "Y-- yes, how did you know?"

"I've seen you around. I read your story in Publick Occurrences and heard about your role as General of the Minutemen. Hard not to know Molly Gould. Although you've never been in here before, have you?" His voice was soothing, nonjudgmental, and even toned.

"I'm not religious, I don't subscribe to any faith, Pastor. I'm sorry." The need to apologize overwhelmed her. Her grief palpable enough she thought to chase off others in quiet prayer. Molly had been married in the church, Shaun baptized in one, too, but it was more Nate's influence and social expectation than a deep rooted faith on her behalf.

He gave her a warm smile. "Most people don't. Don't be sorry, you’re welcome here for whatever the reason. You could almost say that having no faith in itself is something."

Molly’s shoulders relaxed at Pastor Clements words. His presence provided a comfort she hadn’t experienced in a long time, like she’d known him all her life and he had brought her a warm bowl of soup on a cold and miserable day. "I guess I've come to find some solace. Isn't that why most people come here?" She gave him a sad smile.

He nodded his head. "Mostly, yes. Sometimes, other things. Some come to seek answers, some to seek strength, some for forgiveness. A quiet prayer for the living, or one for the dead." He gave her a questioning smile and stared unblinking into her eyes. "Shall I leave you to your solace, Molly?"

At the tilt of her head, her voice trembled under the tears. _Prayers for the dead._ "If you could stay a while Pastor--" She began to weep again. "I would appreciate that-- very much. I don’t want to be alone."

He sat down next to her and when he took her hand, it was as soft as his voice.

They remained silent for a while. Molly's tears eventually ceased. "I'm going to have a baby," she said with a sniff.

His eyes widened. "And that's a good thing? Yes?"

"Maybe. Maybe the worst thing I could do," she said and glanced up at him, searching his facefor some kind of affirmation that what she was doing was the right thing.

"Why is that?”

"I think-- I know he's dead.”

Pastor Clement’s brow furrowed. “I take it the father, you mean?”

She nodded. "That's why I'm upset. There's no one else. And tomorrow-- tomorrow--" How could she articulate what was going to happen at the Institute? That their actions would kill her son, the same one she had talked about in that article with Piper so long ago.

"I know about grief, Molly, you have to let it take its course."

She gave a quiet laugh. "I'm an old hand at grief, Pastor. I had-- have denial, I may have had fleeting anger, this is the bargaining bit I’m sure, you know, where you look to regain control--"

"Where you come to make a deal with the divine perhaps? Get them to postpone the inevitable?" He smiled and squeezed her hand. "It's the defence we need to protect us from the painful reality of what's happened."

The tears on her cheek began to dry and she gave another quiet laugh. "That's exactly what it is. I guess you're an old hand too--"

"At grief? I am at that," he chuckled.

"I don't think this painful reality will ever end." It was a resignation on her part, this 'terrible reality' coming back again and again to haunt her.

"It might. There's more than three stages of grief, you've got the depression to work through after all-- so not all bad, hey?" A lighthearted smile danced across his face and Molly couldn't help but be amused at his efforts to lighten the tone of their conversation, perhaps to lighten her spirits even.

She put her hand under her chin and mirrored his smile. "You make it sound like a good thing, Pastor."

"It can be, yes. If it means you’re moving forward. That the worst of it is over. Then comes the acceptance, that’s when you know things will be better."

She sighed. "Pastor Clements, thank you."

"I did nothing but hold your hand, try to lighten your burden, and you are very welcome, my dear. I'll leave you to your solace." He let her hand go, stood, and disappeared back into his quarters, leaving her to the quiet of the chapel.

Molly stared at the candles at the altar in front of her and bowed head in remembrance of everything she'd lost. She wouldn’t let this defeat her, she wanted to live. She sighed and stood. Best get some sleep, best think of what is to come, best to leave the regrets she had for sending MacCready away. She would leave her doubts about her choices at the altar and return later for forgiveness.

* * *

Molly and Preston entered the Institute through the old tunnels in the CIT with little resistance, a few mole rats and ghouls, but only one synth. They'd dosed themselves with RadX and she kept a supply within easy reach-- concerned that any radiation they'd encounter would affect the baby, too. Roger Warwick had been waiting for them at teleporter. He'd done what was asked-- get the message to Liam, and he relayed that the location of the first wave of synth resistance would be at the Synth Retention Bureau.  A good strategy, Molly thought. Targeting the location of most of the coursers would draw them away from any interference from the small group of Minutemen now sitting in the teleporter facility.

"What do I need to do, Sturges?" Molly leaned over the console and watched as Sturges' fingers ran over the keys and buttons in front of him.

"Entry to the main atrium is blocked from here, but you can get in from the old robotics lab here--" He tapped on the screen. "That will lead you to Institute Bioscience wing and then from the atrium you can enter the reactor from Advanced Systems. From what I see there's only three terminals you can give the evacuation order from. The one in the area labeled 'SRB' is the closest."

Molly shook her head. "We can't go there, that's the SRB, too much friendly fire and I'd need a small army to watch my back."

He pointed to another location. "What about here?"

She twisted her head to look at the screen, the location the furthest from where they currently stood. "Too far--"

"Well, this is our last choice-- here."

She gulped and ran her hand over her mouth. It was Shaun's quarters. "I can get to that location to give the evacuation order. But first, let's get to the reactor. Sturges, get the rest of the Minutemen in here before the Institute realizes what we're doing. Preston, with me."

Molly’s legs tingled and she felt the tightening of breath in her chest. She couldn’t tell if it was fear that made it hard to breath or that she felt or a measure of excitement about what was about to happen, a measure of both acting in unison to confuse her senses. Her and Preston and along with a small handful of Minutemen headed into the old robotics lab.

"General, good luck," Sturges said. "I'll let you know if we have any impediments on the way.

* * *

_Dulce et decorum est_

Under the first wave of synths and turrets, Molly, Preston and a handful of Minutemen buried themselves under a barrage of fire, beneath the cover of desks and old machinery. They bent over double and shuffled onward like ghouls in two hundred year old rags.

They coughed through smoke bombs and cursed as each machine fell, as the sentry bot took out most of their foes. The bot then changed to target to them, and they dared not turn their backs. Instead, they pushed on as the synths out maneuvered the Minutemen onslaught. The fight became tougher, their position more untenable with each yard of ground gained.

Grenades lit small spaces like fireworks, alerting more soldier synths to their presence, yet they trudged on, there was no going back now. The queasiness Molly had on the road, under the influence of a growing unborn child returned. She swallowed and gulped down the nausea, knowing this was barely the beginning of the fight. The chance of rest, of a comfortable bed, lay miles away and hundreds of feet above her head-- if they made it out alive.

Minutemen fell at Molly and Preston’s feet, bootless and lifeless. The dead left to what soon would be their grave. The group limped on, spattered with blood from their foes, from their friends.

A fleeting blindness hit as an explosion struck the ground nearby. The adrenaline surged in her veins and any feeling of weariness rabidly dissipated at the sudden detonation. The noise of the fight and blast behind them rang in their ears; synths, grenades and gunfire, popped like corks at a noisy celebration. Yet there was nothing to celebrate; this ballroom could not entice them. 

"Gas! GAS! Quick!" Preston yelled. A HalluciGen gas grenade released a plume of green mist that distorted their vision and Molly stumbled, heightened fear and stress made her heart thump loudly in her chest, louder than the nearby explosions. Her mask gave a moment of respite before the next wave of synths hit.

A scream echoed above the sound of gunfire and they turned to see a green sea of gas envelope two Minutemen unable to fix their masks in time. They were too late; the soldiers staggered and asphyxiation felled them like crash test dummies before Molly and Preston could reach them. They could do little but watch on, helpless.

"Push on, push on!" Molly screamed as several synth seekers came into view. The reactor was in sight, purged of radiation, the device was easily set in place. Preston had her back, but her hands still shook, even his unwavering loyalty unable to still her nerves. She choked back the memory of Minutemen left behind, of them gasping for air in the dark. A dozen or more soldier’s deaths would be a haunting reminder of everything this battle entailed. Their faces would be the worst of her nightmares, their mouths begging for breath, their eyes pleading for life. There would be time later to ask forgiveness of her loyal dead Minutemen at the altar of the All Faiths Chapel.

Adrenaline led them out of the reactor and back to the main atrium. She directed the Minutemen still standing to get to the transporter and out. Blood rushed and thundered in her ears, and the sounds of the dying sickened her to the core as they stepped into the atrium’s elevator.

They were still coughing when they reached Shaun’s quarters, still in shock of the fight that had ravaged their forces.

“Preston, can you remain downstairs?” she said and coughed up the remaining smoke that had filtered through to her lungs.

He nodded and Molly stepped forward, pausing briefly at the foot of the stairs. She glanced up to the top, the adrenaline now slowly seeping out of her system made her take a deep breath. Each step she took was heavy and filled with trepidation. It would be time to face her son one last time.

_Dulce et decorum est_

_Pro patria mori._

* * *

 "Shaun," Molly said as she stepped forward into the room and towards his bed.

He turned to face her, his eyes appeared rheumy and his face sagged. "Why are you here, Mother?” he asked, his voice filled with bitterness. “You've set your detonators, your Minutemen are shooting everything in sight. Why remain here? Is it regret or the need to gloat?"

Molly swallowed, the venom in his voice made her shudder. She shook her head. "It's simple," she replied, she didn't have to reach far in her thoughts to bring it forward. "I need to evacuate the Institute, to get all those out who can make it. That includes you Shaun." Her voice trembled as she spoke.

"This is not a fairy tale, Mother. It's selfish to think you can save me. I'm dying, you cannot change that fact, and now you've destroyed the last hope for humanity. The last hope for the child you have, the child you had--"

She sucked in a breath. "No, I haven't, Shaun." Molly ran her hand instinctively over her stomach. "To be truly selfish would be to remain here, at the Institute, watching you all sit on your hands, watching those on the surface struggle to survive and not sharing our advances. To remain 'safe' whilst others died. I can't bring up a child here."  

"You could have changed that. You could have become Director, my successor."

"You reacted with deadly force. You and your synths killed innocents. What would they think of 'your last hope for humanity'? It's difficult to ask the dead that question.”

"You're making a grave mistake," he said and coughed.

Molly pulled at her collar and looked down. "You might be right, it might be a mistake, but it will be my mistake, for once– my choice, and I can live with that."

"You're going to destroy everything I ever loved." His voice had a quiet anger.

She had asked him before about children, about loved ones and he’d dismissed it with a wave of his hand, that there were ‘trivialities’ he didn’t have time for. "Did anyone ever love you, Shaun? Did you love anyone?" She stepped awkwardly around the med bay pod and waited for a reply.

He looked away.

Tears formed in her eyes. "I am not purposefully vengeful, Shaun, if that's what you think. The Institute destroyed everything I ever loved, the moment it took you from your father's arms, the moment it hired a killer to bring you to them. They sealed their fate long before I came out of the vault. Long before you were Director. The moment they took what was not theirs to take. But, they'd been doing that long before they even knew about you. This has to end. Can't you see?"

He flinched from her touch as she ran a hand over his head. Gone was the soft strawberry blonde fuzz, replaced with a coarse grey. "Did anyone ever love you, Shaun? Did you love anyone?" she asked again, she wanted to know that even in her absence that someone had been there for him, had held him when he cried, when he needed to talk, that he in turn had learned to love others-- as much as she had loved him.

He fixed his gaze on hers and stared into her eyes. He didn't reply.

"Then you have my answer as to why I'm still here." Molly leaned forward and kissed his forehead. She knew from the moment she stepped into the Institute he wouldn’t leave, but she needed to try, even if she had him for only a moment after. Her chin trembled and she stepped backwards, hoping he would turn to her, reach out to her.

Shaun closed his eyes and Molly stifled a sob. She turned to the nearby terminal, and issued the evacuation order for the civilians within the Institute.

As she stepped towards the door she turned back, but Shaun remained faced away from her.

She stepped out the door of the apartment and wiped away a remnant tear.

The evacuation orders sounded down the corridors and scientists and synths alike were running to exit as fast as they could.

“Come on, General, let’s get out of here.”

She nodded and looked on with dismay as they stepped over both dead Minutemen and synths.

They arrived back at the teleporter to find the younger Synth Shaun standing there.

"Mom-- please don't leave me here! I wanna go with you!"

Molly stood rooted to the spot, he had called her “Mom”. She gave the boy a glazed confused look, what did that mean? She had left the elder human version of him behind, why was he here and not leaving with the others? She had given no thought to the boy, suffice to say that she wanted to make sure all non-combatants were allowed unimpeded escape, she had not even thought to single him out for special attention. "All-- alright you can-- you can come with me," she stammered.

"Really, do you mean it?" he replied. Relief sounded in his voice.

"Yes, yes, now let’s get out of here." She turned to Sturges, still confused about the interaction she just had. "Let's fire it up."

"I'll transport you to the detonation site and get the kid back to Sanctuary Hills, get him cleaned up. You remember and press that button extra hard now. See you on the other side, General."

* * *

Molly stepped into the transporter and found herself atop one of Boston’s tallest skyscrapers. The view was extensive along the city skyline in every direction. She stopped to take in the sight and her heart leapt into her mouth at the extent of of the city’s destruction. Not a building or street untouched by damage. Steel girders barely held the walls of what once were civic pride and joy.

The light for the detonator flashed bright and red. She stepped forward at Preston’s urging and pulled the release lever to allow access to the button. Her fist balled and she gulped, staring into the stark landscape of rusted and crumbled downtown Boston. Then she slammed her fist on the button hard.

The light from the explosion made her shiver; she'd not seen anything like since her descent into Vault 111. She hoped-- prayed that everyone fleeing had made it out in time, their lives now in upheaval because of her actions. She hoped too that Shaun in his final minutes could close his eyes and be at peace, she had to intellectualize it that way otherwise she would never move on, never heal from this. "The Institute started this war, I'll finish it," she said under her breath. A gust of wind hit them and Molly stepped back as it passed over her.

They watched the cloud ascend into the evening sky. Fire and smoke in balls of white billowed against a backdrop of dark blue and a moonlit sky. Stars twinkled as the haze from the explosion obscured the light. Molly could smell dust and burning, making her nose twitched. When the fire turned sooty black and the cloud began to recede, she took another step back and closed her eyes.

"General, we should get out of here." Preston’s grip on her arm was gentle and leading. A flutter hit her belly, the first kick from a tiny human, this wasn’t the time for thoughts on this, on her return to Sanctuary she hoped to give this all the attention it deserved. She wiped her cheek before a tear could even spill and followed Preston and the other Minuteman to the elevator.

"We have to get out at the third floor and walk down, be ready for trouble," Preston said.

Molly prepped her shotgun and gritted her teeth. She'd be ready for the fight.

When the doors opened, a bombardment of laser fire hit the first of the Minutemen who stepped outside onto the landing. He fell to the floor lifeless. The rest of them crouched, and in a cloud of smoke, they moved to a barrier separating the walkway from an open Mezzanine, three stories tall. Molly peaked around a gap in the railing and could see the exit below, at least two synths patrolling, and across the other side of the mezzanine walkway, two more. She pointed to the stairwell that would take them to the next level and indicated to the two remaining Minutemen to go either side of the door.

Preston and Molly moved forward, careful to remain out of the sights of the Gen 1 synths patrolling the opposite walkway. As the four of them descended the stairs, several rounds came from synths below, but were easily deflected as they took cover. A barrage of fire from the escaping group hit the synths hard, their metal forms making a crashing sound as they fell.

They reached the first floor, but the only way out was through a maze of offices. They crouched and jumped over furniture taking their time to scout forward and check for more enemies, checking behind doors and in bathrooms as they passed, not wanting to be taken by surprise from behind. Several more Gen 1 synths roamed towards the exit corridor and Preston aimed and shot at one, the synth’s leg collapsing underneath it. He rolled and shot it several more times as it twitched beneath flickering fluorescent lights.

A smoke grenade landed near their feet and Molly put up her hand to cover her mouth. Preston and the other Minutemen moved forward and were not in view when she felt the iron grip of a hand on her arm. She scrambled to grip her shotgun as it was ripped from her hands and tossed aside.

The synth had taken purchase on a metal desk and had lifted her up by one arm. An immediate and familiar stabbing sensation hit her shoulder and upper arm, they’d made it this far, and for her to be taken by surprise set off a bubbling reaction of anger-- it was only suppressed as the intensity of the throbbing pain rose from zero to ten in a matter of milliseconds. She screamed. A stunned dizziness made her sway like a pendulum, her legs dangling as the synth pulled her up off the ground. Her stomach lurched as the nerve compression of the dislocation travelled down her arm into her fingers, her thoughts were disjointed but she knew that she’d have to fight, there was no way she’d meet her end this way. The injury she'd received long ago at the hands of ghoul now revisited at the hands of Gen 2 synth, she survived that, she was determined to survive this.

She punched out with her free arm her hand connecting with the synths jaw and it dropped her hard, her ankle collapsing underneath her. Her head clipped the end of desk and her vision blurred for a moment. She turned over, crawled on all fours seeking her shotgun in a desperate panic amongst the smoke, gunfire and yelling from the others. Her heart beat louder and the pain from her shoulder and ankle disappeared in the haze of her desperation. Her thoughts centered on escape and not the agonizing sensations afflicting her body.

She managed to edge over to where her shotgun lay and she turned around, pressing her back against the hard metal surface of the wall and watched as the synth jumped down from the desk and advanced on her. She lifted the shotgun with her good arm and gave it leverage between her legs. She grunted loudly through the pain shooting up from her ankle and from what felt like a knife to her shoulder. MacCready had saved her from the ghoul last time, this time she was alone and separated from the others with only her wits and remaining strength to fight the oncoming synth. She snarled and grunted through the pain and pulled the trigger. One shot hit the synths legs, destabilizing it. She observed it’s stitched together carcass move in slow motion as it collapsed to ground. It righted itself on its belly and began to crawl towards her, one of its legs shot clean off at the knee now stood off to the side. She had one shot left, there'd be no way she could reload with a dislocated shoulder, so she waited to the last minute until the synth was almost on top of her, the fear and pain cancelling each other out in her efforts.

Molly swallowed and her gut churned from the extreme level of pain in her shoulder. Her body tensed and she could feel her muscles spasm and quiver, she ignored it. A veneer of sweat mixed with blood from the wound on her forehead dripped down from the end of her nose. She gave a loud bellow, what would MacCready say? "Eat lead, you fucking asshole shithead fucker." The bullet roared out of the barrel hitting the synth in the middle of the face. It collapsed on top of her, its head lolling to the side and the yellow light fading from its eyes. The acrid smell of melting components coated the inside of her nose and she gave a loud gasp, the throbbing in her shoulder returned and now extended to her chest, each breath causing a radiating agony through her body.

Through the smoke, Molly caught sight of Preston as he ran towards her. He kicked the synth aside and knelt down next to her. "General-- Molly--"

She took long shallow breaths, the pain ebbed and flowed. "My shoulder-- dislocated. My ankle-- my head--" she said in short breaths. She tried to hold herself together but could feel herself drifting towards unconsciousness, the taste of blood on her lips. She began to laugh, disconcerting and delirious. She was alive, MacCready would be proud of her. She stopped laughing and winced when the stabbing pain hit again. "I'm okay, I'm okay,” she rasped as she glanced up to see Preston’s worried frown. “You-- you’ll have to set my shoulder before you can move me, can-- can you do that, Preston?" Her eyes fluttered as she spoke, her breathing still labored.

"I think so. Just bare with me. General-- General-- stay with me Molly, we’ll get you home--"

"Yes, get us out of here, Preston. Get us all out of here." Molly felt her body relax and slump against him, she passed out thinking of Sanctuary Hills and MacCready.   

 


	14. Wasteland Vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small interlude - After the fall of the Institute, various Wastelanders reflect on what's happened and the path ahead.

"I can't believe it, Nicky. She did it. Blue actually did it." Piper’s voice was tinged with disbelief. She had never wanted to underestimate the vault dweller, but this was something she believed no one would ever be able to do. The Institute was elusive to many-- most people really if you thought about it. People had only ever talked about the Institute in hushed tones, as though even saying their name would bring them into your presence, bring them down though? However, that was exactly what Molly Gould had done, brought down the one thing that had plagued the comfort of Commonwealth citizens for decades, her and the Minutemen had brought down the Institute.

It was early evening and a radstorm was brewing, turning the great green jewel that was Diamond City even greener. Piper and Nick sat outside the Dugout Inn. This was the very place where Piper had last spoken in earnest to Molly, about the Wasteland, about her life now, as opposed to before the war. There had been a melancholy in Molly's voice, which made Piper hold back on delving too deep into more questions and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was Molly's general demeanour, her candour on sharing what had happened to her, to her husband and son, or maybe it was that Molly Gould would drop everything to help a friend. That, in Piper's books, counted for a hell of a lot and gave her a measure of guilt about asking too much.

Nick sat back in his chair. "Can't say I'm gonna miss 'em, Piper." He brought out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

"Why would you, Nick? I mean apart from the fact that some of your cases involved missing people taken by those bastards."

He chuckled and blew smoke into the night air. "You looking for an angle, Piper? For your next story? Whip up some more frenzy?"

Piper bowed her head quick to avoid Nick's piercing gaze. "Okay-- okay. I know-- maybe all this stuff with McDonough had me all in a tizz, but c'mon, Nicky. You gotta admit there’s something going on even now with the Institute gone. I still don’t trust McDonough-- I get a sense he knows something."

Nick sighed loudly. "It's been three days, Piper. Maybe give things time to settle. I'm sure that whatever you’re stirring up with McDonough is just under the surface and it will come out sooner or later. People are frightened, no wonder. It's just if you're looking for a story from the General-- maybe just-- hold off for a bit."

Her brow furrowed with concern and she ran a hand across her jaw and looked up to him. "Was she badly injured? Did Preston say?" Her voice wavered in a worried tone

Nick shook his head. "Nothing that she can't physically recover from, a dislocated shoulder, an old injury apparently, a badly sprained ankle, and a knock on the head that gave her concussion -- it's just--"

"All those sound pretty bad, Nicky, but what?"

"Preston said MacCready's likely dead, and the news-- it's shaken the General up."

"Oh shit, I didn't know. That's for certain?"

Nick shrugged. "Nothings ever for certain. But that's the word. There's also a complication, did she ever mention the synth kid to you?"

"Yeah, briefly, that she thought it was Shaun at first."

"Well, he's in Sanctuary Hills now, and calling her Mom. He actually believes she's his mother."

Piper could barely imagine what Molly was going through right now. To try and weave some sort of story, using Molly's tale in it all, felt suddenly wrong. Now this synth kid was calling her Mom. Jesus. A thickness hit the back of her throat, and a degree of self-loathing descended. In searching for the truth, she had to remember these were real people, with real feelings, and Molly was her friend. Hell, if Nick could see that, why couldn't she? "Christ, Nicky," she said. "Look, are you going to go see her?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about it. Head up tomorrow, probably."

She gave him a weak smile. "Well, when you get there, maybe put this to Preston, whatever I can do to help-- help the Minutemen, let me know. The pages of Publick Occurences are available if needed."

Nick ran a hand across his cheek and looked to be considering her offer. "Preston said they might need some help with resettling some of the Institute's people. Maybe curry whatever favor you have left here in Diamond City for that. Smooth the way so to speak?"

"I can try. I don't know how people are gonna take that, though. Damn, Nick if I didn't feel bad already, yeah, all those people, figures that Molly would try and get most of them out." She nodded, although she knew she’d have to work out exactly how that might happen. She’d be as vocal as she could be, the Minutemen deserved it, and Molly sure as hell did too. She nodded again. "Sure, I can do that." She hadn't given anyone who might work for the Institute a second thought. Years of biased thinking had influenced her thoughts on what they were, and what they had done.

The rad storm picked up and lightning flashed across the green sky. "Let's go inside, Nick, I think I need another drink. One for Blue and one for MacCready, hey?"

Nick smiled and nodded. "Yeah, one for the General and one for that shithead, MacCready. I think I can do that."

* * *

Preston and Sturges stood over the weapons bench in Sanctuary Hills workshop, their functioning dynamic, a harmony of silence. Since their return from the detonation site, and Molly in care of Sanctuary Hills clinic, Preston had begun the job of reorganizing resettlement of the evacuees from the Institute. The work had been surprisingly easily. The Institute scientists, still in shock from what happened had, so far, been trouble free and new homes for resettlement found without difficulty. Settlers were asked to be welcoming as much as they could. Only a small group on either side had complained, but he knew there would be a rough patch before resettlement was anywhere near complete. He could only imagine that many of the Institute's sheltered scientists were in some state of shell shock. He'd hoped by the time more trouble arose, Molly would have recovered from her injuries and ready to deal with the aftermath. Now he wasn't so sure. After no news of MacCready, and after the fall of the Institute, he knew her to be in a vulnerable place. Adding to that -- if her mutterings on the road back to Sanctuary were true-- if it wasn't just babbling from head trauma-- there would be complications to her return. He might have to step up in her absence, take the lead whilst things were sorted out, he knew she had confidence in him, but did he have the confidence within himself? He sighed loudly.

Sturges stood back from the lathe and pushed his goggles back over his head. "Something wrong, Preston?"

He let his tools clank down on the metal bench and gave another quiet sigh. "Yeah, I'm thinking about the General."

"We've all been thinking about her. But she's recovering, ain't she? That's what that Institute Doc says."

"Yeah, she is, it's just--" Preston ran a hand across his chin. "We know what it's like to lose people care about, it's not like any of us here have been untouched by tragedy."

"Some more than others," Sturges said and gave a conciliatory smile.

"Her healing is gonna take a lot longer than just for a wound to close over."

"You talking about Settlement gossip now? As if a babe in the General's arms is gonna change her? Or you talking about something else?"

Preston bowed his head. "Not exactly, with MacCready gone--" He knew the General well enough, _he knew himself well enough_ , to recognize the first signs of trauma, not just physical. "She's gonna need all our support."

Sturges gave a quiet chuckle. "You think we're gonna abandon her after all she's done for us?"

He shook his head. "No, no of course not, I just--"

"We all got a soft spot for the General. Hell, even Marcy's been asking every day at the clinic. When she comes around, we'll be there, we'll all be there."

Preston nodded and picked up his tools. "She was muttering about not wanting to be in that house. She said that house was no longer a home."

"Yeah? I'm guessing with everything that's happened, I can understand that. But she was concussed, I mean she might wake up and that will be the last thing on her mind."

"Maybe," Preston replied.

They returned to their cadenced silence. Preston's thoughts drifted over all that had happened over the last eighteen months. Molly's presence had been life affirming. He'd taken the brunt of the blame for Quincy, and knowing that, it was as though she could see that his inner struggles had turned him to stone and she'd done all she could to turn that around for him. She had lifted him from despair and the darkest of thoughts. He knew that she was holding a lot back, the fact that she had been in a concussed state meant there had been no filter to her mutterings. She talked about a baby, and a pregnancy and not having a home.  He stopped and turned back to Sturges. "I've an idea."

"About what?"

"What we can do for the General. Help her recovery **.** "

Sturges nodded. "Well go on, what's your plan?"

"None of us are counsellors but we can do stuff. We set up house for her. Somewhere new, even if it’s just next door for her and the boy and her new baby. Somewhere to start afresh. Somewhere for her to create new memories and leave the ones she wants to forget behind."

Sturges gave a huff of a laugh. "You got more than a soft spot for the General by the sounds."

Preston returned the laugh, yes he had feelings for her he didn’t deny it, how could he not? Between Concord, Quincy and here, she had done so much for the Minutemen, done so much for him; his feelings were less romantic and more about respect and admiration-- undiminished by the usual healthy Wasteland cynicism. "Maybe. I just-- well I just want, I just want to give her what she gave me, what she gave all of us-- hope."

"Sounds like a good plan." Sturges replied and laid his hand on Preston's shoulder.

* * *

The smell was familiar to her. A mixture of aviation fuel, oil, and the sweat of too many people crammed into a small space. Clean, not as clean as the Institute was, of course, but there was no dirt or rubbish lying around, no hands were idle, soldiers marched in power armor from one end of the flight deck to the other. It had the ambience of a small scale version of the Citadel.

"This way please, Doctor Li," the young scribe said. "The Elder is expecting you."

Madison's brow raised at that. She'd heard much of Arthur Maxson's-- for want of a better word-- 'exploits', his rise to Elder from timid squire. A lifetime ago and five hundred miles south of here, vague memories of a quiet boy with soulful hazel eyes standing nearby as she chastised the great Elder Lyons before fleeing the Citadel. Can it really be ten years? Is that all the time that has passed?

She's shown inside the Prydwen's bridge and face to face with a stranger. It's only his eyes when she stares into them that she sees the boy that she once met. He's tall, and -- damn wide, too and if she had not been herself, she might have been in awe and intimidated by his physical presence. However, she's neither of those things.

"Doctor Li, I don't know if you rem--"

Madison cut him off with a small laugh. "I remember you well enough, Elder. I called you Arthur then, and if I remember right, you were just a boy hanging off Lyon's every word."

She watched him swallow and shift in his stance. "That was a long time ago, Doctor."

"Ten years, yes."

"And you were just a scientist then, traveling from Rivet City. Why are you here Doctor?"

"You know very well why I'm here, Elder. You know I worked on Project Purity. You know about my previous associations with the Brotherhood. You know that the Brotherhood once deemed me a security risk, that I fled, yet I'm here standing on the deck of your little sky fortress. I heard you were asking about me."

Maxson looked down and away but dismissed a sheepish embarrassed grin with a bold stare. "You were considered a threat once and-- the tenets of the Brotherhood--"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. I know very well what the tenets of the Brotherhood are, as I knew very well ten years ago."

He frowned. "This is a very different Brotherhood to the one run by Sa-- Elder Lyons."

Madison gave a sly smile at his slip and nodded. "But you do want me here, don't you?"

He pursed his lips and put his hands behind his back, a stance that made him appear as though he wished to stamp his authority on the exchange. "That you're here is evidence enough, but first I have questions."

She huffed a small laugh and lifted her chin. "Fair enough, Elder. Ask away."

"First, your time at the Institute, how long were you there?"

"Long enough to know that the Institute is-- was-- selfish. To know that the technology that could improve countless lives was hidden for far too long."

"You'd be willing to share further insights on this?"

"Why not? If the Brotherhood sees fit to run their own version of Operation Paperclip, why wouldn't I?"

Maxson's head tilted. "Operation Paperclip?"

"After World War Two, the USA recruited many former German scientists. This is something similar, isn't it? I hear rumors that the Brotherhood has asked around about several other Institute Scientists aside from me."

Maxson conceded a smile to her. "It appears you have an understanding of our future plans, Doctor."

"The Brotherhood's motivations are really not that hard to read." Madison could see a vexed furrow deepen between his brows. Initially she knew the Brotherhood during a complicated time where there were deep divisions. Now though, they had simplified themselves, they’d become hardlined, their motivation to take whatever technology they could with the manpower they had buffered by the fact they were willing to help others, ultimately removing the threats that plagued the Wasteland. "You have other questions?"

"Yes, the General of the Minutemen--"

"General Gould?"

Maxson nodded. "What did the Institute know of her? How was she able to bring about the destruction?"

She ran a finger over her lip, not sure how much to say, not that she knew the Intricacies of Molly Gould's time with Father. The Institute kept a large amount of information hidden, even from people like her in senior positions. She didn't know the details; aside from the fact Molly Gould had a connection to Father. Rumors were rife after he announced her as the heir apparent, rumors that she was even related to him. However, there was nothing concrete from anyone confirming that to be the case. "My knowledge of General Gould is limited, Elder. Suffice to say that our Director took a particular interest in bringing her to the Institute."

"You don't know why then?"

"No, I don't."

He lifted his chin. "Would you tell me if you knew?"

"I don't see why not." Madison furrowed her brow. "There was one thing."

Maxson rubbed a hand over his beard. "Go on, Doctor. Anything you can tell us guarantees your remaining here on the Prydwen."

She took the warning as further evidence of their hardline stance, but she was willing to bear it for now. If what she could do here would benefit others, she’d have to. "General Gould showed some particular interest in a former scientist. One that died-- under mysterious circumstances. She asked about his research."

"And what was that?"

"He was a bio scientist and worked on FEV."

Maxson bristled at the mention of the Forced Evolutionary Virus. "I can't imagine what General Gould's interest would be."

"Why don't you ask her?" she said.

He ignored her and turned his back. "Doctor Li, the Brotherhood is not going to allow you free reign here on the Prydwen, not until you can prove you’re not the security risk we thought you were all those years ago. But the mere fact you’re here, under your own recognizance is a start." He turned back to her. "However, there are some basics I'd like you to cover with Senior Scribe Neriah and if you could be more forthcoming on other business during your time in the Institute with Proctor Quinlan, it would go a long way as to you not being under suspicion. Are these terms acceptable?"

Madison was silent for a moment before nodding. "I agree to the terms. Elder-- you really should speak to the General if you want to know more. I hear she is recovering in Sanctuary Hills under the supervision of another Institute scientist."

He nodded and chewed on his lip before replying. "I will-- pay her a visit. Welcome aboard Doctor Li."

Maxson turned his back again and Madison was escorted from the bridge by a waiting scribe. She hesitated, not sure if thanks were in order or if her decision to join with another regimented organization so soon after the fall of the Institute was a good idea; however, for her-- safety and for her research, it was the most logical choice-- for now at least.

* * *

Marcy stood over the trunk at the end of her bed and kicked it with a heavy boot. The trunk, pale green and worn at the edges had been a recent acquisition. She had moved to a house at the far end of the settlement, away from everyone, away from Jun. She opened it-- the inside was worn material but otherwise clean and in much better condition than the outside. The contents were varied, clothes, books, some other items she had claimed for herself since they came here, at the bottom was another bag and she pulled it out and moved to the bed, sitting down with the bag beside her.

She knew the contents, even though this particular bag remained closed since they left Quincy, since they had fled into the night. That night when everything changed, she had been bloody and bruised, dazed, frightened and angry.

This was Kyle's bag. With Kyle's things and full of the memories of her son that she could not part with, that she had gathered with great haste before his blood was even dry on her shirt. She took a deep breath and looked up as a soft tapping noise came from the open door.

"Marcy." Jun's voice was quiet and tentative. "You wanted to see me?"

Three months prior, she had told Jun that she had wished to spend some time alone. She knew that a relationship, even one that had been as loving as her and Jun's, would struggle to remain as such after the harrowing circumstances of Quincy.

They were both shattered and grieving but their grief had manifested in different ways. Where Jun was open and emotional, Marcy became a tight ball of impotent rage. There was no space where she did not feel uncomfortable, ready to strike out like a caged animal. She was shattered and broken and for a time she could see no way to put any of her life back together again. She was drowning and if she didn't pull away-- she'd take Jun under too.

Things had changed when Molly Gould had arrived. She had treated Molly no differently to any other stranger, hostility and anger and a deep suspicion order of the day. Still Molly tried, she was patient with her, patient with everyone and when Marcy heard about Molly's background, what had happened to her husband and child, she took a step back from her anger when Molly was around, a mild softening at least as the settlement grew. The settlement of Sanctuary Hills was quiet, little troubled their existence, no raiders or feral ghouls or mutants and the place was productive, comfortable, _happy_. Things didn't change much for Marcy, but a sense of calm had descended at least, and that was definitely Molly Gould's doing.

Marcy patted the bag beside her. "These things, they're Kyle's."

Jun walked towards the bed and sat on the other side of the bag.

She stared at Jun's face and for the first time, noticed the grey at his temples was also flecked through his dark hair. The dark circles under his eyes remained, but otherwise, he looked relaxed and calm. "I think we can find a better use for them. I don't want to keep them here anymore. Do you want them?"

Jun shook his head. "Marcy, everything I want to remember of Kyle is here." He pointed to his head and gave her a soft smile.

She couldn’t help but return the smile, she sometimes forgot that others loved Kyle too. She was unused to the tug on her cheeks, and bit her lip convinced she might look a little maniacal. "I was thinking. About Molly. If the rumors are true. She might be able to use these. Especially--" She unzipped the bag and pulled out a yellow baby blanket. A small embroidered green dove at each corner. She held the blanket between her palms and closed her eyes. The material was soft and light and a vision of Kyle as a baby came to the front of her thoughts. She opened her eyes. "I thought it might be a good thing, to let this go."

"If you think so, Marcy," Jun replied.

"I do."

Jun leaned over and squeezed her hand before he too grabbed part of the blanket and stroked it with a thumb and forefinger.The last time they touched would have been at least six months ago and the sensation of his hand on hers made her skin tingle.

"I'm sorry I needed space from you," she said, a doleful tone to her voice. "But it’s the only way I think I can get through this. Can you give me more time?"

Jun ran his hand under his nose. "I think maybe focusing on ourselves for a while is a good thing for us. I mean the best way to take care of us, the couple, is to take care of us, individually. Let‘s be selfish, take our own path for a while. Just promise me one thing."

She gave a small huff of a laugh, selfish, yes maybe she had been that, and she had to admit he had worn it without complaint and had asked so little of her since they arrived here. She couldn’t refuse him a promise. "What's that, Jun?"

"We work on keeping our communication open and honest? Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think we can do that."

"I think Molly will like this," he said and continued to stroke the blanket.

"Has she come around yet?"

"Not that I've heard. From the little that Emma has said she's stable."

"Good, good." She began to fold the blanket up. "There are some baby toys in here, too. I'll put them aside as well."

He nodded. "One of the hunters got a radstag. Meats real good, gonna make a stew. Would you ah-- would you like to join me for dinner?"

She gave him a warm smile. "You make the best stews, Jun, yeah dinner sounds good."

Jun stood and then leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. "Dinner's at six. See you then."

Marcy, was surprised at the tenderness in his kiss, but then she remembered he had never lost that softness, that emotion, she was the one with the hard edge, with the anger and bitterness and maybe she needed that as a foil. Maybe she needed him more now than ever. She remained seated on the bed after Jun left. She held the blanket up to her face, letting the gentle fabric glide across her skin and remembered a happier time.

* * *

 "So what’s the deal, Deacon?" Desdemona stood with her hands on her hips. "I want the lowdown."

Deacon gave a small bark of a laugh. He wasn't firsthand witness to what went down at the Institute but he'd seen the aftermath and he'd been one of Molly's crew ready to shuffle off all the synths and whatever civilians they'd evacuated. He'd let the Minutemen take care of the human scientists and technicians, he'd taken care of the synths he told them. "First there was 'pew pew pew' and then 'rattatatat' then 'bang sizzle sizzle' then later a giant 'kaboom'" He made a large circle with his arms as he spoke. "It was awesome. Wish you could have been there, Des. Wish you could have all been there."

Desdemona rolled her eyes. "Maybe one of the synths can give us some more sense."

"Ha, you're no fun. How many filtered into the safe houses?"

"All the ones that Patriot talked about, but that doesn't include the others who came out with the evacuation. We're still picking them up after you sent them through and the odd one showing up at various settlements where we have agents and hoping to get to most of them before those damn Brotherhood bastards."

"What happened to Patriot? Did he get out?"

She sighed and looked away. "Yes, but ah-- it’s not turned out well."

He gave a concerned tilt of his head. "What do you mean? He wasn't injured, was he? I saw him injury free at Sanctuary Hills, sent him here."

Desdemona shook her head. "He's dead."

"What? How?" he replied with an incredulous tone.

She handed him a note from her back pocket then leaned over and picked up a cigarette lighting and inhaling deeply.

Deacon lifted his sunglasses to read it. His eyes scoured the letter and when he was done, he whistled. Patriot had committed suicide. He had blamed Molly, blamed her for the destruction of 'humanity's last hope'. "Holy shit. I did not expect that."

"None of us did."

Carrington approached and handed Desdemona a clipboard. "So far thirty-five. Reports on their physical condition is good. Some small injuries but nothing life threatening." He turned to Deacon. "Your boss did well. I heard she was injured. Is she okay?"

"Gonna have a sore head and she won't be playing tennis for a while, but news is she's good." He waved the letter in their faces. "But what are we gonna do about this?"

"I don't know, what's to be done?" she replied.

"If that's the suicide note-- won't Molly want to know?" Carrington asked. "Given her investment in liberating those synths."

Deacon replaced his sunglasses. "She might not be in any condition to receive that news right now."

"Well, after she recovers from her injuries maybe." Carrington added.

Deacon folded his arms. He'd not been close with the Boss, maybe a good thing really that she didn't trust him, that meant she'd been listening to him at least, listening to the fact that there were people out there who didn't have her best interests at heart. Not that he'd be one of them, the distance between them was comfortable, enough that he could do what he wanted without having to go to her. "Maybe not even then."

Desdemona shook her head. "What makes you say that?"

"The boss's physical state-- er-- well she's drinking tea for two."

"What?" Desdemona's voice had an annoyed tone.

"She's visiting her aunt, you know-- joined a convent, has scarlet fever--"

Desdemona gave a flustered shake of her hands.

Carrington laughed. "I think Deacon means to tell you she's pregnant. I suspected as much when she came to me unwell a month or so ago."

Desdemona's brows went up. "Well, something else unexpected. Should I congratulate you then, Deacon?"

Deacon startled her with a loud cackle and snort. "Not me Des, pretty sure I'm shooting blanks." He gave her a finger guns motion.

"Well, whatever, I know her and I have had our differences but I still think she needs to know, tiny patter of little feet or not."

He nodded. "Agreed, I mean when she recovers, maybe wait until she comes here, if she doesn't corner me first. The Boss is good at that."

Desdemona tapped her chin then took another drag of her cigarette blowing the smoke from the side of her mouth. "It can wait, if she doesn't extract it from you first. I don't want this to get out. Not to anyone. It might--"

"Not be good for PR," Deacon added.

"Exactly."

"Count on me, Des, my lips are sealed," he replied. However, there would be no guarantee though that once Molly had the information what would happen with it. He never took her for a fragile, she just lacked the Wasteland knowledge that people like him, Des, and Carrington took for granted. She'd learned fast, and learned the hard way. That this Wasteland was no one’s friend and the ones you count on most might not be your best bet. Liam Benet knew that and for Molly Gould, he was sure she knew it, too.

 


	15. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall of the Institute and with the support of settlers and friends, Molly recovers in Sanctuary Hills and prepares for the next phase of her life in the Wasteland, one without MacCready by her side.

Molly drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering and mumbling. Occasionally she heard Preston's voice, but for the most part, the handful of stims they jabbed into her, kept her in a waking slumber, where shadows fell from above and demons rose from below. Strapped to a stretcher, carried by two Minutemen and in what little consciousness she could muster, she asked about the baby, asked about MacCready and Duncan, but she was too dazed to decipher any semblance of an answer. The last thing she remembered was the vision she had of the Minutemen statue, just past Red Rocket truck stop, then the sound of boots treading on the rickety boards of Sanctuary Hills Bridge. She smacked her lips together and uttered a silent _home._

* * *

Filtered evening sunlight gaped through a blind in the small room of Sanctuary Hills medical clinic. A lamp in the corner added to the subdued glow from the window. When Molly's eyes opened fully, she blinked away the crust at the corners and licked her lips, her mouth dry and parched. Fully conscious, the lyrics of a pre-war song came to her:

_This day was just a token_

_Too many words are still unspoken_

_Oh well, we'll catch up some other time_

"Mac--" she whispered, then shook her head. He wasn't here. The plaster across her forehead pulled against her skin as she struggled to a sitting position. Her eyes remained heavy lidded as she tried to blink away the blurred vision. Her arm was fastened in a sling tight against her chest to protect her injured shoulder, and she could see they'd removed her General's uniform; in its place, a grey, washed hospital gown and tubes leading to an IV stand. She pulled back the blankets and groaned as her legs swung free and over the side of the bed. She was home, and safe, but aching everywhere. Her free arm went to her stomach, but calmed when she felt movement, the familiar flutters she was sure was a baby’s kick. Her next thought was for Preston and her Minutemen, she hoped they had all evacuated in time along with most civilians from the Institute.

She took a deep breath. “Emma?” she tried to call out to Sanctuary Hills’ resident medical clinician but her voice was croaky and dry. “Emma?” she called out again before she reached out with her good arm, leaned on the edge of the bed, and tried to stand.

"Molly, no!"

The protestation came from the doorway and Emma rushed to her side and took her by the arm. "Molly, back into bed, you're in no state to be up."

Molly, her legs trembling under what little weight she had tried to bear on a strapped and sprained ankle, collapsed back against the bed. With Emma's assistance, she returned to a prone position. Emma checked her IV, and Molly bought a shaking hand to her temple. "Emma-- the baby?" her voice broke with a shaking squeak.

Emma pulled the blanket up over Molly's legs and gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'll get the Doctor."

Her brow furrowed. "Doctor? What Doctor?" She grasped the edge of the blanket and squeezed, worried that the fluttering she felt earlier was just her imagination, but Emma had left the room without giving an answer. Sanctuary Hills didn't have a doctor, not unless it was one of the caravan doctors, she wanted a simple answer-- was her baby okay? She closed her eyes and licked her lips again. She wondered how many days she'd been back when a familiar voice called her name.

"Hello Molly."

She turned her head back to the door; her vision blurred at the figure, but she could see he was wearing white and pale green. "Doctor Volkert?" she asked in a shaky voice.

He walked to her bedside. "You're surprised to see me?"

She nodded and then her lip began to quiver and tears began to spill. Everything came flooding back, her last hours in the Institute, her last words to Shaun, and prayers for the dead in the All Faiths Chapel, thoughts of MacCready and Duncan and a love she'd never see again. "I'm sorry, Doctor Volkert. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Your home, your son," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry--"

Doctor Volkert laid a hand on her shoulder. "Molly, it's okay."

"No, no, it's not okay, it's not okay. It will never be okay." She continued to cry as Doctor Volkert reached down to hold her free hand.

The sudden well of despair she had tried to push down bubbled to the surface again. Everything had gone wrong, everything she had tried to do lead her back to grief and sorrow. She grasped at the blanket again. “My baby, my baby.” It was the only thing she was convinced she had left and now she felt sick with worry that too might be taken from her.

He remained silent until her crying began to subside. "Here, Molly--" he said and turned to a trolley behind him and pulled out a probe attached to a small grey metal box. He placed the probe against her stomach, pressed a button on the box and moved it around over the material of her gown. "It's usually better skin on skin, but I don't think we'll have a problem hearing at this stage-- Ah there it is." He gave her a comforting smile and turned a knob on the side of the box.

She cried out with relief at the sound of a tiny heartbeat thudding against the fetal Doppler’s tinny speaker. The one thing to give her hope was still there.  She bit her lip and let a small measure of happiness envelope her.   

"Sounds strong to me, wouldn't you agree?"

She inhaled a deep breath, wiped the tears from her face, and nodded.

He pulled the Doppler away, and placed it back on the trolley. "Molly, you have a sprained ankle, your shoulder was severely dislocated, and you received a nasty knock on the head. Only four stitches, but a bad concussion. You need to rest; you need to look after yourself and your baby. You'll heal, but the stresses you've been under can have lasting effects on both of you, if you don't take a step back. And there will be more than just the physical to overcome."

Molly wiped her hand over her mouth, she knew that he was right, but her current state was fluctuating with relief and panic for what might come, she had to be ready to face that. "What about you, Doctor Volkert? And Brendan? And the Minutemen--"

"Brendan is fine; he's taken a keen interest in your Greenhouse and the plants you've taken from Warwick Homestead."  He pursed his lips. "I've had several long conversations with your second in command, Preston. He’s a good man, and more than capable, he's already started helping us refugees from the Institute. Molly--"

She could barely take in what Doctor Volkert was saying, about the operations post-Institute, all she could think about was the things she thought she should be doing, now she knew her baby was safe. "I don't know how to let go, Doctor Volkert. I've had so little control over everything since I left the vault, Can't at least one thing go right for me? And you-- your home--"

He gave a quiet laugh. "I have a story to tell you."

Molly ran her hand under nose and sniffed back a tear and stared at him confused. "A story?"

He poured a glass of water from a jug and handed it to her. "Yes. About my time before the Institute." He paused and stared at her with a note of concern. “But, perhaps that can wait--”

She took the glass from his hand. She'd never thought much about how long various people had lived at the Institute. The water passed over her parched lips, slid over her tongue, and coated the inside of her mouth, the coolness providing momentary relief.

“Are you staying, Doctor Volkert? Please, say yes.”

"I am, for now, again a conversation for a later date." He patted her arm. "Now my dear, I think you should rest, but ahh--" He looked towards the door then back. "Would you be up for a visit? Just a short one mind you-- someone has been very worried and eager to see you."

She nodded. Of course Preston would want to see her, a short debrief, she could handle that, at least. He left and she could hear murmurs coming from outside the room: Emma's voice and Doctor Volkert. She rubbed her hand over her face and when she looked up, Doctor Volkert stood at the door with young Shaun.

Molly had completely forgotten about the boy, and seeing his face, smiling and relieved gave her an unexpected ache, for family, for motherhood -- a contradictory feeling given it felt like she was missing something she’d never had the chance to really be, for she’d been a mother for what felt like barely a moment.

"Don't stay long now, Shaun," Doctor Volkert said and motioned for him to move forward before leaving him with Molly.

Shaun, now out of his Institute uniform and dressed in jeans and a striped t-shirt, came to her side.

"How are you, Mom?”

Again it was as though she had missed being called something no one-- no child, had ever called her.

“Are you better?" A worried tone was in his voice as he spoke and his hands folded over one another. Molly stared at the motion he made, the move she recognized as hers too.  

"I'm getting there, Shaun. Might be a while until I can throw a ball though." She motioned to her strapped arm.

He smiled and Molly felt her heart throb a little.  His face-- he looked so much like Nate, the pictures she remembered of Nate as a boy, except with her coloring, her freckles, and red hair. It was Shaun's eyes that reminded her most of all, dark brown, just like his fath--. She stopped the thought and closed her eyes, this wasn't Shaun, this was a copy, not the real thing, he would never be the real thing. A sense of isolation struck her. She knew she wasn’t the first to lose a child, the first to lose a loved one, certainly not here in the Wasteland, but she couldn’t help feeling alone with her sorrow in regard to Shaun-- the real Shaun.

"That's good, Mom. Sturges has been letting me use the workshop, there's so many things I can make you."

She opened her eyes. "You want to do that, Shaun?"

He tilted his head. "It's okay isn't it?"

A twinge of guilt hit her, she hadn't meant to sound so offhanded. "Yes, yes of course its okay, Shaun."

He gave her an enthusiastic smile. "Mom, I know things are going to be different now we're not in the Institute, or with Father."

Molly couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "You do? You understand what's happened?"

"Well, maybe not, but I'm here with you." He looked around the room and she could see his eyes rest on her pipboy nearby. He turned back to her. "I almost forgot. Father told me to give you this." He fished into his pocket and pulled out a holotape. "I didn't listen to it, I promise."

Molly took it from him and turned it over in her hands. What could he possibly say that he hadn't said to her before?

"Doctor Volkert said you need to rest and I shouldn't stay too long. Can I visit tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Okay, I should go." He leaned up and kissed Molly unexpectedly on the cheek. "See you tomorrow, Mom. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"So am I, Shaun." Molly watched him leave then looked back to the holotape in her hand. However, her exhaustion prevailed over her curiosity; whatever Shaun had to say to her would have to wait until tomorrow. She placed the holotape on the bedside table next to her and lay back with her eyes closed. A sense of peace descended and she fell easily back into slumber.

* * *

_Six days post Institute_

Molly placed the final rock on the small cairn she had built on top of Nate's grave. "For our son," she whispered. “I’m sorry, Shaun.” Despite everything that had happened, despite more loss and despair, a vague sense of peace about her decisions had finally settled on her. What would come after this, she wasn’t sure. She knew there would be one more memorial to add after Shaun’s; accepting MacCready’s death would be the last hurdle to her sorrow. When memories were all she had left, she vowed to cherish them and hold them close.

She limped over to one of the nearby benches and sat down. There was an increasing chill in the air and winter around the corner, but buds and leaves stuck stubbornly to the trees and to the cemetery's rosebushes. She rubbed her leg with her free hand to create a warm friction beneath her jeans, then scratched her neck where her sling rubbed against her skin. It was only on waking that morning that she had decided to listen to the holotape that Shaun had left for her, part of her delay knowing that she wouldn’t be able to listen to his voice, without breaking. In it was his dying wish for her to look after the young synth version of himself, that the boy deserved a 'chance', triggered a degree of confusion in her. Shaun's words sat uneasily, for if, as she believed, that he thought synths were tools to be used, why give her this synth version of himself? Why give him ‘a chance'? Why not let his fate lie with all the other synths? She would never know his motives but she wouldn't let this undermine her, not now.

It had taken a few days but she told herself there would be no more tears, too many had spilled in the name of everything that had befallen her. That same morning after listening to Shaun’s holotape, she had penned her last letter to MacCready, the idea of more heartache, of pining for the return of a dead man would destroy her. She patted her pocket, she would send it today. She ran a hand over her expanding waistline. Her pregnancy now showing a small, yet obvious bump, had drawn the silent attention of many within the settlement. None chose to mention it though, a simple politeness perhaps, like not mentioning MacCready either. "We're gonna be A-O-fucking-K, kiddo," she said out loud.

"I'm sure you will--you both will."

Molly looked up to see Nick standing behind her. She gave him a broad smile and patted the bench next to her.

"Not disturbing anything?" Nick asked.

"Your company is always welcome, Nick." She reached out and tapped his arm as he sat. She had missed his presence at the strike on the Institute, but she knew he'd helped Preston in the aftermath. "You just get here?"

"I did, thought you might still be laid up in the clinic."

"I'm walking around a bit, although I can't go far with this." She swung her leg up to show the makeshift moon boot attached to her injured ankle. "This helps, but Doctor Volkert told me not to spend too much time on my feet."

"I heard you were concussed too." Nick pointed to the small dressing across her forehead.

"Four stitches. Going to make a nice scar."

"I heard you had an Institute doctor attending you, you okay with that?"

"More likely is he okay with that?"

"Should we be concerned about him? I mean--"

Molly waved her free hand. "No, Doctor Volkert is to be trusted. Not sure about others. I'm expecting reprisals. I’ve already spoken with Preston, we’re preparing the Minutemen should we face more skirmishes in our settlements."

They sat quietly for a while saying nothing but listening to the background noises. Leaves rustled in the trees and sounded in duet with a distant banging of hammers and children's laughter as they entered the small schoolhouse next door.

"I'm sorry, Molly, to hear about everything, and now MacCready--"

She bowed her head and gave a subdued sigh. "Some of the settlers have told me not to give up hope, but I can read it in their faces. I can't do it anymore, Nick. I can't hope for things to get better, not on that front anyway."

"That's up to you, of course, but then, now you have others counting on you and I don't mean the Minutemen."

Molly gave a quiet laugh. "Ah, I should have guessed the gossip reached Diamond City." She placed her hand on her stomach. “And with you being such a great detective and all.”

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t be worth the caps if I wasn’t a good one. So not so much gossip, call it confirmation. Also, it’s never polite to ask someone that sort of question.” He reached into his pocket, bought out some gum, and offered her some.

She shook her head and laughed again. "Yes, politeness, I've had a lot of that lately."

He chuckled again in reply.

"Have you met Shaun, yet?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, Preston introduced me when I arrived. He asked me a lot of questions I couldn't answer."

"Ha, yes I noticed that about him." She traced a line in the dirt with her foot. "What do I do, Nick? He thinks I'm his mother--"

"Well, would it be so bad if you just went along with it?"

She contemplated the question for a moment. There was no real reason why she couldn't. Sure, being a single mom with two kids would have its challenges, but the reality was, she’d faced greater challenges and she knew herself and what she was capable of. The only doubt in her mind, with everything going on around her, could she be what the boy needed? "You got me. No, I guess it wouldn't. But, what do I tell him? The truth about who he is?"

"That's up to you, but I don't see why he needs to know right this minute. He's not going anywhere. And if you're gonna do this long term, you'll have plenty of opportunities to bring it up. If he is as he is, he'll probably be the first one to ask. By then you might even have an answer ready. Or not."

Molly turned to him, tilted her head, and placed her hand under her chin. "Why are you so good to me, Nick?"

Nick scratched the side of his face. "Someone's gotta be." He lowered his head and gave her a pointed look.

Molly was about to question him further, but she knew what he meant, she had been generous and forgiving with everyone except herself. Molly felt that her failures were often greater than her successes, and occasional bad pattern of thoughts she fell into when she was at her lowest made her think she was less deserving of any kind of rewards for them. It was time to listen what others were saying, not taking her successes for granted, but taking them as they were-- real achievements, that reverberated beyond her. Almost everyone who had come to visit her in recovery had mentioned 'you should be looking after yourself' in passing conversation. She could do this mothering thing, even if Shaun was a synth and their relationship a proxy for the real thing. Would she grow to love him like her own son though? She couldn’t go into this half-hearted, it would not be fair to him or to her.

An out of breath Minuteman rounded the corner, into the cemetery, and rushed towards them. "General--sorry to interrupt," he said, the man's face was lined with concern.

"What is it, Clay?" Molly replied worried that maybe the reprisals mentioned earlier had started.

"Someone from the Brotherhood of Steel is here to see you--down in Minutemen house--I've come to fetch you, they seemed-- impatient."

Molly turned to Nick, a confused smile passed over her lips. "The Brotherhood? What could they want?” She turned back to Clay. “Tell whoever it is I'll be there as soon as I can."

He nodded and left.

"Better not keep the good soldiers of the Brotherhood waiting, then," she said.

Nick stood and offered Molly his arm and they headed towards Minutemen House.

* * *

Two soldiers in power armor stood on either side of the doorway, unmoving and vaguely threatening. Molly unlocked her arm from Nick's and glanced towards the three field scribes who stood nearby; she didn't recognize any of them from the Brotherhood's previous visit.

"Looks a like a lot of soldiers to send a message, Nick," Molly said.

He shrugged and gestured towards the soldiers in Power armor. "I think I'll just stay out here if you don't mind. Can't see their faces but I know they're scowling at me."

She gave him an understanding nod and stepped inside. The scene she came upon was comical in nature. Elder Maxson stood with his hands behind his back facing Shaun, who was mimicking the man's stance. "And the Brotherhood has many young men like you-- squires we call them--"

She hobbled over, stood behind Shaun, and placed a hand on the boys shoulder. "Shaun, sweetie, why don't you go find Sturges."

He turned his face up to hers. "Okay, Mom," he said earnestly. "Elder Maxson was telling me about joining the Brotherhood and how they have lots of kids my age."

"Was he now? I don’t think the Brotherhood of Steel recruit from Wastelander’s." She gave Maxson a pointed glance and bit back a small sarcastic laugh, if Maxson only knew who Shaun was. "Go on now."

Shaun left and Molly could see the slight tilt in Maxson's head at the word 'Mom'. She turned to greet the Brotherhood Leader with a flat smile, not sure what had bought his visit, unannounced and uninvited. His height and overall size dominated the room. Despite his intimidating presence, she'd forgotten how young he looked, even with the bushy beard. "Elder Maxson, what do I owe this visit?"

He motioned for her to sit on a nearby couch. "Please, General, you're injured, don't stand on my account."

Molly bristled at the request, but knew she’d not be able to stand for long given her injuries, so acquiesced. She nodded and moved towards the couch. She expected Maxson to sit too, but instead he remained standing. "Are you not going to sit, Elder?" She said in a firm tone, the idea of him standing over her whilst she sat gave her a sense of disquiet about their meeting.

He shifted uncomfortably and maneuvered towards the opposite couch and sat. Molly suppressed a smile at how awkward he appeared. He reminded her of a Great Dane squeezed into a dog bed too small for his size.

"How are your injuries, General? I heard you came up against a group of synths." There was softness in Maxson's voice that Molly didn't recognize from the earlier meeting they had.

She nodded again. "Yes, that's right. My shoulder and ankle are improving. Doctor Volkert says I'm to take it easy until he can rule out any remnant effects from the concussion, though."

Maxson furrowed his brow. "The Institute Doctor?"

"That's right. We're looking to re-home some of the scientists and their families who escaped-- the ahh-- destruction."

“I see. I don't know if you are aware, General, but several Institute scientists and technicians have made their way to the Prydwen."

"Oh?" Molly was genuinely surprised by this revelation. They had an informal hands off policy for those who had come from the Institute. The refugees could do as they saw fit, if they wished to seek assistance then the Minutemen would help. It meant most had started to make their homes in the various settlements, but some had disappeared before there was even a chance to find a home for them. By the sound of it, a few had ended up with the Brotherhood.

"Doctor Li and some of her staff are now Brotherhood aligned. What she's had to say so far has been-- enlightening. It appears I owe you and your Minutemen an apology."

Molly scratched her head, confused as to Maxson's statement. "Why is that, Elder?"

"It appears that the Brotherhood and the Minutemen's goals were not so dissimilar."

"How so?"

"When you came to the Prydwen weeks ago, you asked why the Brotherhood was here, in the Commonwealth."

"I recall you were-- less than forthcoming -- 'Brotherhood business' and all."

He gave her a small smile. "We were here to hunt down and destroy the Institute. But it appears you got there first."

Molly's mouth fell open. She should have guessed, given the Brotherhood's views. "How did you even know they were here?"

"We had scouts and we had confirmed a signal of some sort when we arrived. We thought we were close-- but--" He paused and rubbed his hands together. "Anyway, it’s irrelevant, If we’d known of your plans, we could have shared resources."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Possibly," she replied. 'Her plans' were never to destroy the Institute, even up until the very end she'd hoped to avoid carnage and destruction, but the dice rolled and the game in play was not favoring her settlements or the Commonwealth citizens at large, acting against the Institute was the only recourse they had. However, the Brotherhood didn't need to know that. They also didn’t need to know of the help she’d had within -- from Liam Benet. She'd not heard about him since their last meeting and hoped he made it out safely.

"Nevertheless, we owe you a debt. And maybe share resources this time, eliminate other threats, the existence of the Forced Evolutionary Virus for example."

Molly bowed her head, it appeared the Brotherhood had done some homework, but it was her turn to not be forthcoming. No doubt they were asking about Virgil and she wondered how much Madison Li knew of him. "Does this mean you'll be leaving the Commonwealth?" Molly deflected his enquiry with a question.

"Eventually." He stood again and it was as though she was back on the Prydwen, dealing and negotiating. He rubbed at his beard. "I have a gift for you, General."

This time Molly didn't hold back her laugh. "I'm sorry, Elder, a gift?"

Maxson barked an order out the door and a scribe came running and handed him something. He walked over to her and handed her a box. "I've been informed you like this sort of thing."

Molly placed the box on her lap and opened it. Inside was a ceramic teapot, there were small flowers in a wreath shape on the outside, it was delicate and dainty and so unlike the kind of gift she thought it might be-- whiskey or cigars or even a gun. "It's lovely. Unexpected, but lovely. Elder, thank you." She turned the pot in her free hand, it looked to be pristine, and she wondered how old it was. "If I might ask, where did you find such a thing?"

"We have a few 'collectors' on board the Prydwen. They seem to find things that really have no practical purpose on a battleship. I think it was found in an old house on the outskirts of the city. Scribe Bryce seemed to think it appropriate. I'm sorry I don't have any tea to give you."

She gave him a smile but the sense of disquiet returned to her. If he had given her a gun, or a bottle of whiskey or even a Brotherhood flag, she would have taken as is, one soldier to another, but this felt like an intimate gift from someone with whom she was barely acquainted. She could only surmise that the Brotherhood's diplomacy skills needed work, the intentions of the gift could either be taken as a clumsy move or as a sign - maybe their intention to call her soft? "That's quite alright, Elder. I tend to make my own concoctions."

He nodded and gave an awkward cough. "General, I know this is probably not the best time, but at some point we will need to revisit our negotiations."

Molly gave an inward laugh, if they thought the gift would soften her up for some a renegotiation, or that they wished to renege on their end of the deal and maybe even reduce their assistance to the settlers yet still take what they want, they would learn the real cost of underestimating her or the Minutemen, how long can an airship full of hungry soldiers last without a decent meal? "I’m really not sure what there is to renegotiate, Elder. But in the short term we can organize something with Preston. He's gone to the Castle for Minutemen business, but he'll be back in a day or two, I’ll talk to him about it then."

He nodded again. "Again, thank you, General, for all you've done, ridding the Commonwealth of the scourge it faced, many citizens and the Brotherhood owe you a great debt. If there is anything that we can do for you and it’s within our capacity, please let us know."

Molly stood and nodded, then remembered the letter in her pocket. "There is one thing, Elder. It’s of a personal nature.”

Maxson tilted his head and his eyes drew down to the bump in her stomach. "Ahh-- eh-- of course, General," he said.

She saw the surprise in his eyes and drew the letter out from her pocket. "If it's within your capacity-- would you deliver this letter to the Capital, to one of my Minutemen near Bigtown. They'll know who the letter is for, just-- just ask if they can't find the person it’s meant for, they send it back or bring it back to me when they return."

He took the letter, placed it inside his own pocket, and extended his hand. "General, until we meet again. I wish you a speedy recovery."

Maxson's grip was firm, his skin warm, and she felt callouses on his palm.

He left the Minutemen House and Molly sat down again and stared at the teapot. She shook her head and laughed.

* * *

_Six weeks post-Institute_

Molly reached up to bring a teapot down from the shelf. It was only two weeks until Christmas, and she was now twenty-three weeks pregnant. She couldn't help feeling a slight trepidation about the holiday celebration, despite the support of those around her, nervous as how she would feel on what had always been a family tradition of gifts, carol singing, shared meals, and all the bells and whistles that came with the occasion. Her first Christmas out of the vault was spent in Diamond City; she hadn’t even acknowledged the celebration. She rubbed at her shoulder as she placed a pot of water on the small cooking stove to boil. There was no need for a sling anymore but the drop in temperature made her shoulder ache. Her new house, put together by the settlers of Sanctuary Hills, was almost a home; however, there would be some finishing touches needed. Molly had her own room, Shaun his, and the baby would go into a crib next to Molly for the time being. There was also a bathroom and a small study. Sturges had recently bought her a Christmas tree, and Nick had made a trip to Diamond City and bought back some lights for decoration. Shaun was already up and had turned the lights on, bathing the lounge and kitchen in red and green hues.

The boy had settled in to settlement life well, taking a keen interest in the workshop. Although Molly was still getting used to the idea of playing mother to him, it felt natural, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Besides family matters, there had been other business to deal with as well, the Brotherhood negotiations and the resettlement of Institute Scientists were at the top of the list. She had also taken time to visit the Railroad headquarters.

She had held Liam’s suicide letter in her shaking hands. Weathering the blame from some of the former Institute residents felt like pin pricks -- this was a hornet's sting. He’d accused her of wrecking humanity's future, of wrecking _his_ future. She had remained stoic in the face of Desdemona, but on the road back to Sanctuary Hills, it was Deacon who carried her part way home, her breakdown complete. Doctor Volkert had been right, the injuries she faced were more than physical. Her devastation at hearing the news and reading his letter cut her deep. Past events, the ones she thought she could leave behind came back to haunt her, could she have changed the outcome? Keeping busy was the only distraction she had, luckily there was still so much to do. A knock at the door provided a welcome diversion to her thoughts. “One day at a time, Molly. One day at a time,” she whispered.

She opened it to find Sturges and Nick standing with Shaun’s old crib between them. "Where do you want this, Molly?" Sturges asked

She pointed towards the carport and followed them out with Shaun trailing behind. The crib would need a light sanding before painting and it would keep her hands busy and her thoughts towards the future. She held out her hand expectantly to Sturges.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do this for you?” he said.

"I'm pregnant, Sturges, not an invalid."

"If you insist." He handed her the sandpaper. "But if you need--"

"Go," she said in a stern tone.

"Well General, I'll be heading off now, but if you need anything, you know where to find me,” Nick said.

Shaun tugged at Nick's coat. "Can I walk with you for a bit, Mister Valentine?"

Nick chuckled and looked towards Molly. "If your Mom says it's okay."

"Mom, can I?"

She laughed and patted Shaun's shoulder. "Sure. Only as far as Red Rocket, okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

Nicked waved. "See ya, General."

_General_

The name had a sudden oddness to it. In just over a week she was to meet with a small council of Minutemen at the Castle, a new assembly. She intended on resigning her position, something she was yet to breach with Preston, but she gathered he had an inkling of what she intended. She wished to remain part of the Minutemen, part of the good they did, but to do that currently and balance her impending motherhood and single parenting would be difficult, in the short term at least. She was confident that some decision could be reached. For the moment, she wanted to be Molly Gould, just another Commonwealth settler, doing her best to survive, like everyone else.

Her hand ran over the edge of the crib, flecks of blue paint came off and stuck to her fingers. It had not been her choice to have this color crib, but when Nate’s family showed up with a trailer full of baby furniture, and a Mister Handy, she couldn’t say no. The sanding took a while but finally she was able to begin painting. She had a small tin of white--  picked up in a scavenge from her last trip. Most of the color had come off with sanding; however, some stubbornly remained, the blue ingrained deeply into the wood and possibly difficult to cover in white without enough coats, so she decided to mix in some ‘wall green’ that Sturges had managed to obtain from Diamond City. The result: a pleasing neutral peppermint color and enough paint for at least three coats.

Molly fiddled with the paintbrush, the methodical movement gave her a sense of calmness, each lick of paint a gentle stroke. The baby kicked and she laughed. "I guess this is kinda exciting for you," she said. She heard a pattering of feet beside her but didn't look up, too engrossed in her current task.

"Mom," Shaun said. "Can we open up the workshop?"

"Not right now sweetie, I'm kind of busy, maybe la--" She turned her face up to find herself staring into a face of a small stranger “--ter”. The boy had big brown eyes, a dirty face, and a mop of shaggy dark brown hair.  Molly sat up then back on her haunches. "Hello there."

"Hello," the boy replied.

Her brow furrowed, she didn't recall any new settlers coming to Sanctuary in the past few days and she looked to Shaun. "Who's your friend, Shaun?"

"This is Duncan, Mom." Shaun placed his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder.

Molly's brow furrowed and she froze and stared at the boy still at eye level with her. His features were darker, the hair, the eyes, but when she examined the boy's lips there was the unmistakable MacCready shape. A chill fell over her and she dropped the paintbrush and paint splattered onto her knees. She continued to stare at him. "Have you-- have you come a long way, Duncan?" she stuttered out the question.

The boy nodded. "I don't want to walk anymore, I'm tired of walking. Papa made me carry my pack all the way here."

Molly gave a small gasp then huffed out a laugh. "I bet he did, I bet he did." She felt her heart leap into her throat as she sputtered out more questions. "You hungry? Thirsty?"

Again Duncan nodded.

Molly's head turned and looked around but couldn't see MacCready anywhere nearby. The weakness in her knees sent her back to her haunches, and she felt the heat in her cheeks and butterflies in her stomach, her heart overwhelmed with relief and joy. He was alive and had come back to her. Her love had come back to her and she would no longer have to live without him. "Where's your Papa, Duncan?"

Duncan scratched his head. "He's on the other side of the bridge. Talking to the man with the metal hand."

"Right, right," Molly mumbled as she stumbled to standing. "Shaun-- let’s take-- take Duncan inside the house and get him something to eat and drink, okay?" The distress she felt made her voice warble.

Shaun tilted his head confused. "Mom, are you okay?"

"Um--" Molly shuffled her feet. "Yes, sweetie, yes. Um-- let's just take Duncan inside and maybe when he's rested-- later you can open the workshop, okay?" She placed a hand on Shaun's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as she guided the two boys inside the house and to the kitchen.

She stood at the counter, and leaned forward when a dizziness came over her. She'd had no word from the Capital since she sent that letter, none from the Brotherhood or her Minutemen. She took a moment to steady herself; her hands gripped the bench so tight her knuckles turned white. "This can't be true."

"Are you sure you're okay, Mom?"

Molly shook her head. "No-- yes, ah I don't--" She reached out and ran her hand over the boy's ginger mop and gave him a weak smile. "Yes, I'm okay sweetie. I'm okay. Here--" She grabbed some sugar bombs from the shelf behind her and placed them in front of Shaun and Duncan now seated on stools in front of her.

Shaun shot her a skeptical glance but nodded. "Okay." He turned and poured sugar bombs into the bowl sitting in front of Duncan.

Molly placed her hand on her cheek, she had been so dumbfounded by the meeting she hadn’t noticed she had started crying. Before Shaun could ask her any more questions, she turned and walked out of the house and towards Sanctuary Hills Bridge. The dizziness that hit her made the landscape surrounding her appear surreal, the houses melted into blobs in her vision and the road felt as though she walked on sponges. She swore she could smell cigarette smoke and when she licked her lips they tasted of whiskey.

“Molly, you should sit down, sit down,” she said, but she kept walking, her emotions floated between disbelief and elation. What if this wasn't real? What if it was a dream she'd conjured, that this boy wasn't Duncan MacCready at all but some other man's child? Was this a leftover hallucination from her concussion?

When she reached the bridge, she stopped for a moment to smooth her clothes over her belly and wipe a hand over her face. Her hands folded inside one another as she began a slow walk to the rise in the middle of the bridge, where she halted. Her breath caught when she saw the tip of his cap, excitement and happiness welled up within her. MacCready was deep in an animated conversation with Nick, his rifle still strapped to his back, and a duffle bag at his feet.

Molly swallowed hard. She truly believed he was dead, the letters-- or lack of-- had given her that much. Preston had tried to placate her, everyone else had done the same, tried to give her hope, but all the evidence pointed elsewhere, that he was dead and no one had stopped her from believing it. She'd spent the last two months mourning him, hesitant to organize a memorial, moving from her house to another one to be away from memories, partitioning her grief from other important tasks, something she knew she’d have to deal with later-- until now.

It was Nick who noticed her first, and he waved and nudged MacCready to look in her direction. She watched as they shook hands and Nick then walked away and MacCready picked up the duffle bag and walked towards her.

He walked with a limp, and there was a small plaster across the bridge of his nose. There were marks of purple and yellow under his eyes. What had he been through? What hell or high water had he passed to come back to her? She was dreaming, surely she was dreaming. Molly held her hands out towards him, MacCready an apparition of some kind, but no, it was her Mac. In almost six months apart there was hardly a day where she did not think of him, not a night passed where the last thought before she slept, wasn't of him. Her decision to keep the pregnancy, partly based on wanting to keep a piece of him when she was sure he was gone. He was here, he was really here.

She watched his blue eyes wash over her, his gaze lingering on her stomach then moved to her face. The smile he wore spread wide. "Hello, Beautiful."

 


	16. Hell or high water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready recovers at the Homestead after the conflict with the Gunners. However, a letter from Molly sees him desperate to return with Duncan to the Commonwealth and to Sanctuary Hills.

_The voice was soothing, as though it floated above him. He remembered her face. His mother, he thought-- long straight nose and big blue eyes, like looking in a mirror. His little chubby hand moved to grab hold of straw blond hair and her laugh was a resonant chuckle. She called him Bobby, and his last memory of her was a soft kiss on the end of his nose and another on his forehead. Then crying, days upon days of crying, until hunger made him walk as far as his small legs could carry him, and another child took his hand and asked his name._

_"My name is Robert Joseph MacCready."_

The roar in MacCready's ears was enough to rouse him from unconsciousness. A pair of legs dangled in front of him-- belonging to Gunner Davey Nichols, the man’s head engulfed by a Deathclaw, his body hanging loosely from the animal's mouth. Blood ran in rivulets over Nichols boots and pooled at MacCready's feet, before the rest of Davey’s body, minus his head, was tossed to the side. In front of him, the door to the meeting hall was ajar and only six feet away, but MacCready doubted he could crawl even a short distance in his current state. The wound in his leg, his shoulder, and his face caused a new crescendo of pain, one likely to send him into another faint. He could hear shouting and gunfire, at least five – maybe six people’s voices he didn't recognize. A hail of bullets sounded and a dying roar came from the Deathclaw, shortly followed by a loud thud that made the ground move and the platform where he lay, wobble.

The sound of gunfire ceased but the smoke increased and he could smell gun oil. He blinked away the haze as Carol's face appeared before him.

"Sweet Carolina blues, RJ. Are you--" She shook her head. "Of course you're not."

He coughed and spluttered blood. "You should see the other, guy," he said, nodding towards Davey's corpse at the bottom of the stairs.

Carol turned and yelled over the top of the wooden railing. "Someone give me a hand, RJ's in a bad way."

MacCready passed out again as he felt himself lifted by several hands. A voice he recalled from the road whispered his name. _Jewel_?

When he came to, he was lying in makeshift clinic in the meeting hall. He'd been stripped down to his underwear and although his eyes felt awkwardly swollen he could see his pants and shirt lying bloodied and in tatters in the corner of the room, alongside his gun and armor. Aiden lay in another bed nearby and Gaby was seated next to him, her arm in a sling. Abdul and Joseph stood close enough he could hear them talking with a group of people. One of the group he recognized as a Sanctuary Hills Minutemen.

Joseph turned and looked towards him and patted Abdul's arm. "Hey, he's awake."

The two men walked towards him. "You had us worried there, RJ," Abdul said.

"Is everyone okay?" He nodded towards Aiden.

"Aiden's been shot in the hip, but he'll pull through. Gaby's got a broken arm. A few other scrapes and bumps, but we're okay. Thank god for your Minutemen, MacCready."

"Not my Minutemen, Abdul, Molly's Minutemen."

He witnessed a glance and a smirk pass between the two men and Joseph patted his arm. "Of course, you've been uttering her name on and off for the last twenty-four hours."

He gave a quiet embarrassed laugh. He’d been dreaming of her, worried about how she was, what she was doing, so of course he would be uttering her name. "Have I?"

Joseph nodded. "Anyway, Molly's Minutemen came and another friend of yours showed up, too."

MacCready winced when his brow furrowed. "Ah, who?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"A ghoul named Jewel. She's been a great help."

He nodded. "Good, good. I'd argue the Deathclaw was on our side, too."

Abdul snorted a laugh. "All that dung scared the dogs away but attracted a deathclaw. Maybe mating season?"

"Horny deathclaw to the rescue," Joseph added.

MacCready began to laugh again but then whimpered in pain. "Don't make me laugh, my face hurts too much."

Abdul made to slap MacCready's shoulder, but held back, the realization showing in his eyes that it was MacCready’s injured side. "Trevor, David, Joseph, and I are gonna head back to Little Lamplight, bring everyone home. I think you can rest up here. We'll bring Duncan home." He gave him a reassuring smile before pulling a bloodied piece of paper from a nearby table. "We saved your letter. Sorry, can't get the blood off it."

MacCready took it from his hand and sighed as a feeling of relief washed over him, Duncan would be with him soon, and safe. That's all he could ask for.

* * *

MacCready had been transported to his small homestead bed where Carol and one of the Minutemen -- Angus, nursed him until the Homesteaders returned three days later. He'd wanted to ask Angus about what was going on back in the Commonwealth, but due to the meds and his injuries he spent most of his time asleep. When the Homesteaders returned, they bought two others with them, Bumble-- now called Betty and another fresh out of Little Lamplight sixteen year old named Zachary. Betty had taken over as medic and carer for both Aiden and MacCready, and appeared to have picked up a number of skills since he’d left the underground of Little Lamplight.

"You're a mess, RJ," Betty said as she made the preparations to dress MacCready's wounds.

"I always try my best to look presentable for guests, Bumble-- sorry, Betty."

She gave him a soft smile. "You can call me Bumble, RJ. If feels kind of weird for you to call me Betty."

He flinched as Bumble began to undo the bandage on his leg.

"Sorry, I haven't had to do this for a while. Not too many injuries like this in Little Lamplight. Good thing Red's coming tomorrow."

"Why? You, Joseph and Carol are doing alright aren't you?"

"I think when Red heard what happened she just wanted to make sure everyone was okay."

MacCready nodded. It would be just like Red to do that.

"Have you finished, Bumble?" Duncan came up behind her as she tucked in the end of the bandage. A slow smile came to his face, to have him safe and beside him again bought him a level of comfort that he didn’t realise he needed.

"I have, Duncan. Come on in, your Papa's been asking where you got to since you came back."

He looked up to her with big brown eyes. "Can we show him now?"

"Show me what, buddy?" MacCready said as he reached out for Duncan's hand.

Duncan lifted up a small battered suitcase and MacCready squinted before his face softened with recognition. "You dug it up?"

He nodded. "Stephi had to help me," he replied and placed it on the bed next to him.

MacCready ran his hand over the worn case, damaged and falling apart, but it still had its fine brown check pattern. The hinges and clasps were rusty and encrusted with dirt. On the top was "R.J. MacCready" carved with knife and made by his twelve year old hand. "Wow." He reflected on the case’s condition, amazed it was still in one piece; he'd fully expected it to be dust. His eyes shone, eager to remember what he'd put inside. "You open it, Duncan."

Duncan clicked at the latches and threw it open. The hinges at the back snapped as he did, and the lid fell open on to the bed, crusty red rust fell onto the clean blanket.

Inside and on top was a comic, torn at the edges, but one MacCready remembered fondly. Lucy had given it to him when he’d been laid up in bed; his leg damaged from a rock fall. The irony of finding such a thing wasn't lost given his current injury. Underneath that, several more items. An old tin - and inside that a small handful of caps and tin soldiers. There was a bag of rock candy, ‘Welcome to Little Lamplight’ on the inside and old fashioned boiled sweets.

Near the bottom Duncan retrieved an object wrapped in burlap and tied with string, MacCready knew what this was, it was heavy and around ten inches long. He took it from Duncan's hand. "I'll take that, buddy."

"What is it?"

He smiled as he unwrapped it. "This is one of my very first guns." The gun was a rusty old pistol with fine engraved bone on the handle. "I remember this one. Picked it up on a scav. Used it for practice till it became jammed and useless." He wrapped it back up and placed it to the side. He'd ask Bumble to find a high spot out of the way, later.

Several bits of paper littered the bottom of the case and Duncan handed each one to him. The first was a list; people who owed him favors and caps, itemized alphabetically, the next, what looked to be song lyrics:

_Earth angel, earth angel_

_Will you be mine?_

_My darling dear_

_Love you all the time_

_I'm just a fool_

_A fool in love with you_

Under all that, a letter. On the outside of the envelope it said 'Time capsule: Mungo MacCready read now'.

"What's that, Papa?"

"Looks like I wrote a letter to myself."

"What does it say?"

"Let's open it up and find out."

He had a vague memory of writing something, but he couldn't remember what, that was more than ten years ago. MacCready opened the envelope and a worn and faded pink ribbon fell out. He picked it up in his hand and twirled it between his fingers. It was Lucy's. He remembered it falling from her hair, and instead of picking it up and giving it back to her, he kept it. It was the first time he knew that he liked her. The first acknowledgment of affection, although he told no one.

The letter itself was short, and the writing scratchy and even worse than his current hand.

_Hey Mungo, cos that's what you are now, just remember that. When you find this, I'd kinda hoped you'd hit the high life, that you're mayor of some other city and your throne is a pile of caps as high as two buildings. But if you're reading this, you probably ain't shit. You better get fucking working on it then. I'm not gonna be some old Mungo begging for scraps and caps at the gate of Little Lamplight. Get yourself out whatever loser town you're in (cos lets face it if you came back here that means you're a loser). Anyway, say hi to Lucy, because you know you're gonna follow her, right? Make her safe and stuff. Anyway, loser, go do something useful with your life. RJ MacCready (soon to be former), Mayor of Awesometown._

"What a little shi--" He paused and looked at Duncan.

"What's it say, Papa?"

MacCready shook his head. "It says, look after your mama, look after you."

"Really?"

He gave a sad smile and sniffed. "Yeah, really."

"Can I keep these?" Duncan rattled the case with the caps and the small tin soldiers.

The instinct to hoard his caps was subjugated only by the dullness in his head and that fact Duncan was his son. "Sure, buddy. Spend those caps wisely."

Duncan hopped off the bed and ran into the main part of the house. MacCready put the ribbon back in the envelope and placed the letter back in the case along with the other contents. He shut the lid and sighed. _Go do something useful with your life--_ He ran a hand over his chin and contemplated. For so long he'd felt like he'd been treading water; that he'd been standing still and waiting for things to happen by chance. Taking opportunities when they arose but never actively seeking out ones that might actually make his life better. Maybe it was the stims, maybe it was that he couldn't do anything but sit here and wait it out, but he missed Molly more than ever.

* * *

When Red arrived the next day, she'd assessed Aiden and MacCready's gunshot wounds and prescribed a concoction of stims and vitamins for them both and a regimen of carefully planned exercise as part of rehabilitation. Red would oversee and when she left, it would be up to Bumble to take over instruction. MacCready worked on his recovery, the muscle in his leg damaged, but not beyond repair, and he was cautious not to overdo it, in case his healing stalled.

The meeting house was abuzz with activity. MacCready and Aiden were being supervised by Red and Bumble as part of their rehabilitation, Abdul and Joseph were deep in conversation with Mal, leader of the group of Minuteman, and Jewel and Trevor were stocktaking the Homesteads weapons; preparing to move the cache back into the Homestead’s bunker.

MacCready walked several paces up the stairs and back down, stopping to rest whilst Aiden went through his, when another of the Minutemen entered and walked over to Mal. MacCready didn't pay attention until Mal walked towards him holding out several letters in his hand.

"We finally have some news from the Commonwealth. And it appears you have some mail." He passed MacCready five envelopes in all.

MacCready couldn't hold back his smile, news from the Commonwealth, from home, from Molly, _finally_. It was all he hoped for given how little information seemed to be flowing. "What other news have you heard, Mal? The road’s now finally unblocked?" he said eagerly. He hoped at long last an end to whatever the blockade that had stopped the letters coming through.

"Things are starting to clear and--" Mal shook his head and scratched his chin in disbelief. "The Institute-- I can't believe it. It's gone."

MacCready gave an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"Apparently there was some stand off at one of the settlements. A few Minutemen were killed-- trouble escalated from there, so the Minutemen went in a blew the place sky high. Nothing left but ash."

A sudden thickness lined the back of his throat. the Institute gone, he hoped Molly hadn't been near the place when it blew, if he was there he’d be worried for her safety, being this far away and not knowing what really went down caused a degree of frustration to rise from within. "Holy shit. Is everyone-- safe?"

"Limited casualties, the General did a good job, everyone is celebrating."

Queasiness hit the pit of his stomach, helped by a cocktail of medications, he felt nauseas. "Is the General okay?"

"News is-- she was pretty badly injured in the assault, but recovering now. That letter--" Mal pointed to the letter without a number. "Came from a Brotherhood field scribe. Personal delivery to you." He gave MacCready a knowing smile. "Seems you are so much in the General's esteem that she convinced the Brotherhood to deliver a letter."

MacCready gave a relieved sigh, a letter, confirmation that she was at least well enough to write. "The Brotherhood?" It would be just like Molly to make some sort of negotiation with those uptight soldiers in their giant flying dick, and to have them running a personal delivery for her? He wondered what she'd promised them. Hopefully not too much. He held the bundle up. "Gonna take a break for a moment, Red," he said and made his way to the couch under the meeting room stairs. Molly had numbered all but one of the letters, the one special delivery, obviously the most recent, he opened first.

_Dearest Mac,_

_It's been almost five months since I last heard your voice, whispers of 'I love you' as we kissed and made love._

Molly’s writing was always elegant, unlike his own chicken scratches. Even the ugliest words looked beautiful in her hand. MacCready huffed out a small laugh, felt his face redden and looked up and around the room before his eyes went back to the letter.

_When you sent word asking for the Minutemen's help I knew things were dire but I never envisaged when I sent you back to retrieve Duncan, that it would mean your death. There's been no letters from you for a while, I surmise all the trouble you spoke of has made things difficult on that front. I can't dare to hope any longer, everything has fallen apart, and I'm alone and trying to put it back together as best I can._

_It's not easy to write to a dead man, and maybe when this letter comes back I can really put you to rest. For the moment I can't help indulge one last thought that you are alive, that Duncan is safe and that you might return to me._

His face creased with a grimace. So that's why no letters? She thought he was dead? _Fuck_.

_Today is the sixth day after the fall of the Institute, and I find myself at a crossroads. I am a mother again, but not how I thought it would be. My son is dead, and in his place a child synth version of himself who calls me 'Mom'. I don't know if Shaun felt some measure of guilt in part for who he became, that my sorrow at losing him as a baby compounded by everything else, made him think this is what I wanted. But he, like so many others here, never asked, so I am left to pick up the pieces, to reap what I sowed when I destroyed 'humanity's last hope for the future'._

_Eighteen months of sorrow, or heartache, and the one bright thing? The only joy and love I took from this god forsaken place --meeting you, has now been ripped away from me too.  My one consolation, a selfish act maybe, is to keep a piece of you. Our child will grow up in this Wasteland and I am determined it will be better than the one you were exposed to, better than the one I faced when I first left the vault._

He froze and reread the last paragraph. The words 'our child' stood out from the page like the neon sign above Valentine's detective agency. He re-read it again.  "Holy shit," he muttered. Molly was pregnant-- with his child and she was alone and thought him dead. He recalled the moment when Lucy had told him she was pregnant with Duncan, he had frozen in panic about what that meant, worried about what he could provide, could he keep her safe, keep their child safe. That feeling of panic resurfaced, this time ten fold, at least then he could reach out for Lucy, fold her in his arms, tell her he'd do his best to be the husband and father she deserved. Molly was four hundred miles away and the queasiness he had before returned. Another child, a baby, he never thought possible, not that he would ever regret anything that led to it. He continued with the rest of the letter.

_I think about how if I had waited we could have travelled together, and last night I ate radstag stew and it reminded me of the first time we ate such a dish together. You not being here cuts deep and I hope you received at least some of my letters-- before-- before what ever happened. My own heart aches for more of your words, but I know they won't come, when this letter returns to me maybe then I can take my memories and cherish them rather than mourn for what is lost._

_I often find myself thinking about how you must be worried about me, if you hadn't heard anything from me. I've been injured in the fight against the Institute, but I'm okay, our baby is okay, too. Now that the Institute is gone there is still more to do, and my role as General will need to accommodate the changes both around me and my current 'circumstances'. I haven't decided exactly what to do, but that will come later, and that's okay, I've all the time in the world._

_You blessed me with your love, I got through this because you strengthened me, lifted me up, and made me stronger. I am richer having known you (and yet you may laugh I still have few caps) and I strive to be able to share that with our child and with as many people in the Commonwealth that I can. I know you'd be proud of me, proud of us. I will always love you._

_Love,_

_Your Molly_

The words filtered in through an ever increasing sensation of panic within him. Molly was alone. He was stuck here and needed to get back, as fast as he could, hell or high water. He stood but a searing pain hit his leg and he crumbled back onto the couch. "Damn." His voice, loud and agitated, caught the attention of several in the room.

Red and Bumble walked over to him. "You okay, RJ?" Red asked, a worried tone in her voice.

His face reddened and he cleared his throat. "I gotta get back I gotta get back," he said, his voice high-pitched and frantic.

Red's brow furrowed. "Back where?"

He looked to the door then to the others in the room. "The Commonwealth, I gotta go, now, tomorrow."

"RJ, you can't even walk to the gates of the Homestead. Back to the Commonwealth? You've been able to put weight on that leg, but as far as walking that sort of distance? Three months before you'd be ready -- even then, depends on how the rehabilitation goes."

He swallowed an excess of saliva and stuttered, "You don't understand, Red, she needs me. I need--"

"Who needs? Needs what?"

Joseph came up behind Red. "Everything okay?"

"No, it's not, Joseph. It's not." MacCready waved the letter in front of him.

"Is it from your General? Mal was just telling us the news. But she's okay, isn't she?"

"I gotta leave, I've got to get there somehow, anyway I can."

Red made a move to calm him but he brushed her hand away. To all of them Molly was just someone he left behind in the Commonwealth, they didn’t know her, they didn’t know how important she was to him. Maybe that was his failing, he was never the trusting type, even amongst friends he had kept his feelings about her close to his heart.

A confused look crossed Joseph's face. "RJ, you need time for your leg to get better. I'm sure we can get a letter or something through now. Molly would understand, give you several months to heal."

MacCready ran his hand through his hair. "Several months is several months too long. She's pregnant, Joseph. I gotta get back."

Joseph's brow rose and he looked to Red then back to MacCready. "I guess that's kinda-- unexpected, hmmm."

He gave a snort of frustration and shook his head. "Fu-- yes unexpected, I can't even begin to imagine what's she's going through." MacCready's mind was racing but slowly giving way to the creeping realization that there was no way he could currently walk back to Sanctuary Hills. Red was right, he couldn't walk that far in his condition, and not with a small child. His hand rubbed his brow. "A letter's not gonna be enough. If I wait, she’ll have the baby before I get there."

By this time the small commotion and the increasing volume of MacCready's voice had attracted the rest of the people in the Meeting House.

"She would have had the baby, and who's to say any more letters are gonna get through?" He held up the other letters. "Going by the numbers, this is only a fraction of what she's sent to me. And if she thinks I'm dead then none of the letters-- not a single one, has gotten through to her in the past two months."

"She thinks you're dead?" Trevor asked.

He nodded.

"RJ-- maybe those Brotherhood guys can relay a message," Joseph said.

Mal shook his head. "Good luck with that, they relayed a message from Preston last time, but when Julie asked to relay a message back-- they told her they weren't couriers and to-- pretty much piss off."

MacCready laid his hand on his forehead. "Damn it."

"MacCready, I have a suggestion." Jewels raspy voice piped up from the back of the group.

He looked up. "Unless it involves carrying me all the way back to the Commonwealth, it isn't gonna be much use, Jewel."

She chuckled. "Not quite that. But, you know in the little time you've known me how much of a sucker for a true love sob story I am. And-- I have an idea--"

* * *

Sound roared in his ears, the vertibird's engines loud enough to rattle his bones and send twinges down his injured leg. He didn't care. Three weeks he'd waited, three weeks of tossing and turning, of wondering and hoping, of writing letters that might never make it, of preparation and sad goodbyes to friends he'd made along the way. When Jewel told them about the vertibird she’d run across in her efforts searching for her daughter, he was sceptical at first, as was everyone else. She had gone to Fort Bannister, crawling with Talon Mercs, and to the airbase and hanger nearby of which the Talons had been wholly unaware. She had flown it back to the Homestead, and MacCready had felt a surge of hope as the blades of the Vertibird whirred to a stop in the Homestead’s common.

The machine was in poor shape, but everyone who could, pitched in to help repair it. Aiden and Jewel were particularly attentive. They had scrounged enough fuel to fill half the tank and enough fusion cells to keep the beast happy. They wouldn’t make it all the way, but after three weeks, his leg had begun to mend, he could walk the rest of the way and once they boarded the Vertibird he'd be home within a week, hell or highwater.

He turned from the co-pilot's chair to see Duncan, strapped in tight and holding a teddy bear and smiling from ear to ear. The vague throb of pain disappeared with Duncan's grin and he felt his own face split in two. He'd never been a religious man, never had a want to believe in a higher power, but soaring here above the barren forests and crumbling roads below felt like someone, or something was smiling down on him. If they weren't smiling down, then there was a ray of hope and light shining in the distance in the shape of Molly Gould.

Jewel looked calm, collected and despite the jolting vibrations of the vertibird she appeared unfazed. Aiden and her had got the thing in the air and that's all that mattered. They'd been flying for three and half hours at around eighty miles per hour when Jewel tapped on the fuel gauge. "We've got half an hour at best, let's see if we can crank the speed up, before we run out of fuel?" she shouted over the noise.

Despite only half a tank, they'd arrived seventy five miles from their destination. And by MacCready's reckoning, and under normal circumstances, it would take around three days to travel to Goodneighbor. However, progress was slow. Although Duncan had fully recovered, he was still a small child and combined with MacCready’s own injuries, it acted to make Sanctuary Hills a few more days away. The frustration he felt was only tempered by thoughts of home and of Molly. He'd wanted first hand to know that she was happy and well, and since her letter, all he thought about was getting home to her and being by her side. At least he had time to put some thought into what he might say to her, to apologize for not being there sooner. He wondered about her injuries, how her pregnancy was coming along. He was going to be a father again, and this time he’d do it right. He bought Duncan in close to him, his hand rested on the boy’s shoulder as they walked. He would do it right this time, for all of them.

After five uneventful days on the road, they reached the outskirts of Goodneighbor midmorning. MacCready thought for a moment about stopping by, making a pit stop to say hello, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

He took Jewel by the hand. A stranger on the road, who'd taken time to help, to consider him beyond just another 'untrustworthy shit stirrer'. She'd stepped in for him three times now, once on the open road, the second to help the homesteaders, and a third time-- retrieving the Vertibird that brought him closer to home.

He bowed his head and felt the familiar thickness of emotion at the back of his throat. "I don't know how to thank you, Jewel. I--" he choked back the words then tried to dismiss it with a strangled laugh.

Jewels mouth split into a wry smile. "You know, MacCready, on the road, months ago, I told you that Daisy and Hancock had said stuff about you. I didn't tell you everything they said though."

MacCready's nose crinkled with curiosity. "Yeah?" The ghouls of Goodneighbor had been good to him, he wasn't sure why they did, and for the most part he still didn't know why anyone put as much trust in him as they did, thoughts ran back to Molly and the trust she'd placed in him the moment they stepped out of the Third Rail.

"Yeah. Daisy in particular asked me to watch out for you. Apparently you're one of the good ones."

He huffed out a laugh and nodded. He’d never given that much thought to that side of himself. In his heart he knew he was not a bad man, he’d been called all manner of things to suggest otherwise, but he didn’t care, because he knew who he was, he knew who mattered. The people of Goodneighbor, like the people at the Homestead he liked and trusted, but there were still few he felt really close to. "You know, if you're staying in town come on up to Sanctuary Hills --"

She gave him a nod. "I'd have to say I'm curious about meeting the woman who you walked almost hundred miles for." She pointed to his leg. "Held up by the looks."

"I can't lie, it hurts like fu--" He glanced down towards Duncan. "It hurts."

Jewel knelt and ran her hand over Duncan's head. "Make sure your Papa stays on the straight and narrow."

Duncan nodded as Jewel stood.

"I guess this is goodbye, don't get all teary on me now, I ain't about that shit."

“Don’t worry, I ain’t either,” he said as he and Duncan watched Jewel head in the direction of Goodneighbor. They turned north, their destination so close that he could feel his heart beating faster with each labored step on his bad leg. This was not the safest part of the city to be in, he pushed himself through the mild throb in his calf muscle and bought Duncan in close again. The sooner they were on the outer limits, away from danger, from mutants and ghouls, the better. There was no way he would stop now.

* * *

The last landmark on their journey was one he knew well, the Minutemen statue at Sanctuary Hills bridge. Walking towards it he could see Nick Valentine and a boy, a little older than Duncan crossing over. As they got closer he could see the boy’s red hair and freckles and he guessed that this might be the synth child Molly had written about.

Before he stepped onto a single board of what he could see was Sanctuary Hill's newly repaired bridge he nodded towards Nick. "Valentine."

You could never tell if Nick Valentine was happy, angry, sad, or any other emotion on the surface, it was only when he opened his mouth could you tell what he was feeling, the sound of the crusty synth detective's voice had warmth, a degree of sentiment and was laced with his usual sarcasm. "You here to tell us that rumors of your death are greatly exaggerated?" He returned the nod. "MacCready." Nick looked down at Duncan who had disappeared in the sway of MacCready's duster. "And this is Duncan?"

MacCready put a hand on Duncan's shoulder and the boy stepped out from his hiding spot. "Duncan, this is Nick Valentine. Nick, this is indeed, Duncan MacCready."

Duncan held out his hand and Nick made to do the same. Duncan's eyes went wide when he saw Nick's hand. "Wow! It's metal!"

Nick chuckled. "It sure is." He turned and motioned to Shaun. "Duncan, this is Shaun."

The boy who'd stood quietly by Nick's side stepped forward. "And Shaun, this is MacCready, a-- ahh-- a friend of your Mom's."

MacCready took a deep breath as Nick gave him a droll smile. "Hi, Shaun."

"Hello, Mister MacCready."

MacCready laughed. "Just MacCready is fine, Shaun."

Shaun looked up to Nick then to Duncan. "Hey, Duncan, do you wanna see the workshop?"

Duncan glanced up and MacCready nodded before Duncan could ask. "Go on, buddy, I know where you'll be."

Shaun took Duncan's hand and they headed back over the bridge. MacCready smiled as he watched the two boys reach the other side hand in hand. His thoughts turned to this being first steps to a family _._ He felt a sudden urge to run over the bridge and join them, to sprint along the crumbling settlement main road of Sanctuary Hills to Molly’s door but his fatigue and rising pain in his leg kept him rooted to the spot.

"So that's the boy, is it? The synth kid."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, it is.

“Seems just like any normal kid, really.” He looked down then up into the sky above Nick’s head as he dug his heel in between two boards. "Valentine, tell me, how is she? How's Molly?"

Nick tilted his head. "I think, physically she's in good shape. The baby, healthy by all accounts."

"That's not what I mean."

He sighed. "I know what you mean, MacCready. I'm just an old synth who's seen far too much, but honestly? She's-- crushed. Her spirit anyway."

MacCready felt his neck muscles tighten as his jaw clenched in anguish. A measure of guilt about his absence washed over him.

"I should have been here, and now-- the Institute, gone?"

Nick nodded. "Ayup. Ashes to ashes."

He shook his head. "I can't believe it. I should have been here," he said again.

"I don't think anyone has fully comprehended the consequences of it all. Including me,” Nick replied.

MacCready gave him a worried grimace, the consequences could be devastating-- if people wanted revenge-- against Molly, against the settlers--

"Everything that's happened to Molly-- she's still standing. But there are some things that can't be mended, believe me. I might be bargain basement knock off human, but I know loss, I know--" He clicked his fingers together and laughed. "But anyway, don't ask me how she is, why don't you ask her yourself." He pointed to the middle of the bridge.

Molly stood silhouetted against the blue backdrop of one of Sanctuary Hill's houses, her hands folding over one another, a move signaling a level of anxiety he knew well. He said a farewell to Nick and turned towards her. She wore settler's clothes, her belly round, and very pregnant. Her pregnancy bump appeared bigger than MacCready expected and as he began to walk towards her, more guilt about his absence hit him. His heart raced. She looked otherworldly, as though he stepped into a dream. Through it all, her eyes shone, and he fell into their pale blue once again. He sighed, swallowed, and seeing her here, in the flesh, he knew he loved her more than ever. "Hello, beautiful."

Molly's bottom lip quivered and he could see her eyes fill with tears.

He smiled and patted his top pocket. "I got your letter."

Before he could say anything else she jumped into his arms and smothered his face with kisses, soft then hard, then soft again. He could feel her damp tears, her hands gripping hard around his neck, her full belly against him. He embraced her and lifted her up as she continued to kiss him.

She planted her feet back on the bridge and they looked eye to eye still enfolded in each other's arms. "You've come home," her voice trembled as she spoke.

He nodded. "Hell or high water, remember?"

She bit her bottom lip. "I hardly dared to hope. I thought the letter might come back to me, but not in your hands. So which was it, hell or high water?" Her finger gave his injured nose a gentle touch.

"Hell, it's always hell, high water would have been easy," he replied.

"And you have a limp."

He nodded. "I do, but that's a story for later."

She broke from the embrace and held out her hand to him. "Come."

He took her hand but remained rooted to the spot. "Molly-- Molly, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, when you needed me most." He reached for her belly and ran his hand over the hard bump. His child, his love. He hoped that he wouldn’t mess this up, not for her, not for the baby.

Molly turned, bowed her head and placed her hand over his on her stomach, then she turned her face up to his and gave him an earnest stare. "They say the world ended when the bombs fell, but that's not true, the world didn't end, it lived on and people lived on, too. I lived on. For the most part it's been a sort of waking nightmare. Then I relived that nightmare, over and over, trying to find Shaun, then when I found him and found out who he had become, my hopes for a family turned to ash. But by then I'd met you, you gave me hope, that I could live in this world, that there were other things that mattered.” She looked down again and took a deep breath.

He shook his head. “I’ve taken too long, I should have been here.”

She smiled, lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “You’re here now-- Duncan, Shaun, this baby, these things matter and I get to live again and try and make this world a little less nightmarish, for everyone, including myself." She kissed his hand several more times. "You were there for me, your spirit, your courage, your love. And all that was there for me when I needed it most, never doubt that."

MacCready felt the lump hit the back of his throat again. He was overwhelmed by Molly's words. The gift that she gave to him was worth more than caps, and he was at a loss how to reply. He had lived his short life in pursuit of caps, whiskey, cigarettes and what he could get, either by persuasion or by the end of his sniper rifle. Here he was thinking of anything but what he could get, this time its what he could give, and by his own judgement, he was sure it would never be enough, not for his Molly. His lips quivered and he bit back the tears that threatened to spill.

She gave him a soft smile and ran a hand over his chin then held out her hand again. "You've come a long way, my love. You must be tired."

He had left one home, four hundred miles away to come back to the Commonwealth. To come back to Molly, to come back to a home that he knew he would never leave. Not as long as she and Duncan were there. He had traveled many roads, many miles over harsh Wasteland, but this would be a road of his own making. As for the road not taken-- both he and Molly would consign that to memory.

He took her hand, squeezed it, and they walked the rest of the way into Sanctuary Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what a ride! Thank you to anyone who ever kudos'd, commented or had a conversation with me about this story or about Molly and MacCready. I am sad to end their story, it feels bittersweet and I hope you enjoyed the tale I've weaved. xxx


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